


Encounter

by confused_pandbear



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2020-12-22 14:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21078554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confused_pandbear/pseuds/confused_pandbear
Summary: Determined to prove to her colleagues that she is worth more than just her looks, Takamaki Ann takes on a mission that would change her life for good. Working undercover for the country's national intelligence, she is charged with the task of getting close to the Phantom Thieves: one of the most notorious organised criminal enterprises in all of Tokyo.





	1. Keep it Brief

* * *

__

"Did you hear…?"

"...She's been with the agency less than a year and she's already out in the field…"

"...Is she even qualified…?"

"...I guess you get your pick of the assignments when you're sleeping with Kamoshida–"

* * *

"–Takamaki-san?"

Nijima Makoto waved an obstructive hand in front of vacant blue eyes before they blinked back to life.

Even at this point, sitting alone with her in that dingy classroom, Ann wasn't sure how she had managed to get herself into this situation.

"Yes – sorry Nijima-senpai," Ann's head sunk into her shoulders apologetically. "I spaced out for a bit. Can you repeat the question?"

As a former model with only a high school diploma under her belt, it was a miracle that Ann had managed to land a job at the country's national security agency, let alone be on her first assignment within six months of her start date.

The situation was virtually unheard of, so it was no wonder why her colleagues – with their numerous years of experience and specialised university degrees – thought her looks, that their boss' favouritism and obvious infatuation with her had something to do with the fact.

Even though it wasn't true, it hurt.

The condescending words of her superiors and whispered rumours of her peers were one of the many reasons why she decided to leave the fashion industry in the first place. But to Ann's dismay, it seemed that this would be the case wherever she went.

Makoto regarded her with unease before inhaling deeply, reigning in the reproachful words on the tip of her tongue.

"I wanted to go through the personnel profiles one more time," she repeated, her tone remarkably calm despite her waning impatience.

She reached for a brown manila folder and emptied its contents across the table between them.

The spread included various, covert photographs taken of several people of whom she recently discovered were members and associates of one of Tokyo's most wanted criminal gangs.

They called themselves the 'Phantom Thieves'.

Makoto and her team had been trying to track down for several years now – the reason evident from the images laid down next to their profiles, of several of the violent crime scenes that they had left behind.

Ann swallowed down the acid rising from her stomach to the back of her throat.

"Can you tell me who the main members are?" Makoto asked, watching carefully as the girl scanned the images in front of her.

"Kitagawa Yusuke," she said, pointing at the clearest photograph they had. "Code name: Fox."

"Correct," Makoto confirmed with a half-smile. "According to our sources, he deals with their finances so he's well connected. I'd keep an eye on who he speaks to, who he calls or messages on his phone…"

Ann nodded and committed his pretty profile to memory.

From the hasty snapshot taken in a crowded art gallery, she could see that the man was not only handsome but tall in comparison to the other patrons, with slight shoulders and dark hair that fell into his eyes.

Makoto had explained to her earlier that Kitagawa Yusuke was their 'in' with the Phantom Thieves.

The man was educated at one of the country's most prestigious art schools and was notorious for his eccentric personality and obsession with aesthetics. He often insisted on being in the presence of beauty and in particular, in the company of beautiful women – and that was, apparently, where she came in.

"And him?" Makoto pressed, pointing at the image of another, bleached haired man with dark brown eyes and an almost devilish look about him.

Unlike Kitagawa Yusuke, this man was what Ann imagined a mobster to look like. Everything from his shaven brows to the chain he wore on his jeans screamed high-school-delinquent turned member of a criminal gang.

"That's Sakamoto Ryuji," she answered. "Though the Phantom Thieves call him Skull. He's athletic, a skilled fighter and, uh..." she swallowed, "...carries around a metal pipe."

"Correct. He's the right-hand man of their leader, but still likes to get involved in the bloodshed every now and then," Makoto added with a frown.

Ann's attention involuntarily turned to one of the photographs of a recent victim, knees blown off and face beaten to obscurity.

Before today, she could not believe that someone could inflict that kind of brutality on another human being, but the Phantom Thieves were prolific for their violence as well as their illegal activities.

They made their millions and gained their power by blackmailing public figures and executing corrupt politicians.

But their most heinous act, and what the Phantom Thieves were the most infamous for, was their involvement in an attack that killed Japan's previous Vice President, as well as several dozens of civilians, almost three years ago to the day.

The final photograph she was shown was taken from some old CCTV footage, exhibiting the pixelated profile of a man under a hood that half covered his head of messy black hair.

His features were barely distinguishable behind the glare of his thick-rimmed glasses reflecting into the camera lens.

It was astonishing, maybe even impressive, that this was the clearest photograph that the nation's intelligence had of him in years.

Nevertheless, it still managed to elicit a tremor of unease up the length of her spine.

Everyone in their field knew who he was because he was the most dangerous and wanted man in Japan.

"Kusuru Akira," her voice wavered. "He is the...leader of the Phantom Thieves."

"Correct," Makoto said with a stern nod. "And what do they call him?"

"Joker."


	2. A Girl's Gotta Do What a Girls Gotta Do

When Ann joined the country's national intelligence agency, it was to do something worthwhile and meaningful with her life.

She had grown tired of the flashing lights and the questionable diets of her previous modelling career, in the end, yearning for something that would satisfy her desire to protect the people she cared for instead.

After setting her makeup and finishing her look off with one, final coat of lipgloss, Ann straightened up in front of her bedroom mirror.

On the surface, she looked perfect. In her red, plunging dress midi-dress, she was the embodiment of a glamorous woman, confident in her skin.

Her insides, however, must have resembled scrambled eggs, and there wasn't an emotion in the Japanese language that could have accurately portrayed just how unpleasant that resemblance felt.

She tried to fake a smile but her posture wilted with her heavy heart.

"Hey–" her phone rang and it was Makoto, and going from the background noise that almost drowned her voice, Ann could tell that she was on speakerphone whilst she driving. "–Are you almost ready?"

Ann glanced at her reflection one last time, pitying the girl that stared back at her.

"As I'll ever be."

Despite her obvious cynicism in her voice, Makoto sounded encouraged.

"Great! Kawakami's car is on the way to you now. Don't worry, we'll be right behind you."

She signed off and Ann took to her cupboard to find a pair of shoes to distract her from thinking of the inevitable.

It was obvious to her and everyone else, that she was out of her depth, but as Makoto put it plainly: they had no other choice.

Less than a month ago, the agency had been tipped off with some vital information that would change her life forever.

High-profile members of the Phantom Thieves – a criminal gang that had somehow evaded the country's justice system for several years – had been sighted, and according to their sources, were frequent customers of a company run by Kawakami Sadayo.

From what her website said: Kawakami provided an elite service where businessmen, politicians and even celebrity clientele could simply hire beautiful women to accompany them at their meetings, dinners and events.

It was a peculiar concept, but allegedly a popular one, considering the demanding jobs of these individuals who did not have time (but coincidentally, the money) to acquire their dates using traditional methods.

It was not so different from the host clubs in Shibuya, or the call-to-home maid services that were always advertised on the back pages of local newspapers.

People liked to lose themselves in a fantasy, and others knew how to make money from just about anything.

When briefed on the assignment, it became clear that Makoto had only approached her because they wanted someone on the inside, working for Kawakami – and initially, Ann had refused.

She worked an entry-level desk job at the agency. She updated spreadsheets and filed old cases, hoping to make her way up the ranks when it was due.

But as circumstances would have it, Ann was the only one in their office who fit the 'physical profile' of a girl that Kawakami would hire and eventually, she was forced to agree.

It had filled her with dismay, that her looks and her body were all that she was good for.

But now, at least, she had a chance to prove everyone wrong.

Training and preparations went underway shortly after she accepted the assignment: her first obstacle being the job interview with Kawakami that was not like any other job interview she had been to before.

Before Ann was to even be considered, she had to complete an application form disclosing her intimate measurements and further paperwork to conduct extensive background and credit checks – the results of which were tampered with at the early stages by Makoto and her team.

When arriving at a suspect looking building in a shady part of town, Ann was subjected to a series of photoshoots and catwalks in at least three different outfits, where at least one of them had to be a bikini.

Finally, after almost a days worth of interrogation, she was called in to interview with Kawakami Sadayo herself.

"Tell me, why do you want to work at Manor Arcana?" the woman asked, without as much as a glance up from her paperwork.

She was younger than Ann expected her to be, and quite beautiful herself, in a girl-next-door kind of way.

Her hair was wavy, cut with just underneath her chin with sweeping bangs, and as she sat on the opposite side of her desk, seemed more like a high school teacher than the madam of an elite escort business.

"Well," Ann replied stiffly, "the flexibility you offer was certainly of interest. A zero-hour contract works well for my unpredictable schedule."

"Yes, I see that you're a model." The woman finally bothered to appraise her. After two beats, she asked: "You are foreign?"

"My mother is Japanese-American," Ann confirmed and for the first time during her interview, Kawakami allowed herself to be impressed.

"I have a particular client who bores of my girls easily," she said with a roll of her eyes. "The more exotic they are, the better. When can you start?"

The abruptness of her question caught Ann off guard.

"Excuse me?"

Kawakami folded her arms on top of the desk between them and sent her a probing stare.

"I assume you can start immediately, as stated in the job listing?"

Ann could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. She hadn't expected it to be this easy.

"Yes – of course!"

"Great!" Kawakami stood from her chair and Ann hastily did the same. She held out a perfectly manicured hand towards her and said: "it's a pleasure to have you..?"

"It's Ann," she said, surprised by her firm handshake. "Takamaki Ann."

To her surprise, Kawakami laughed.

"I meant your stage name," she corrected, releasing her hand to wave a finger at her, admonishingly. "You can't use your real name with our clients."

Ann regarded her unsurely and the older woman dealt her a playful wink.

"Pick a good one. Mine was Becky."

When called into her first job, Kawakami gave little advice or information besides the fact that she would be attending a 'business meeting' with one of their most valued clients: a man who only went by the name of 'Fox'.

Nevertheless, as she entered the company car that had been sent to collect her, Ann was almost certain that she was on her way to meet the Phantom Thieves.

She was fiddling with the ends of her hair, lost in her nervous musings when Kawakami's driver stopped to pick up another girl on the way to the venue.

At first, Ann was glad to not be sent into the snake-pit alone, but the girl didn't bother to acknowledge her as she slipped gracefully into the passenger seat. She was too occupied with a call on her phone and inspecting her freshly painted nails.

In spite of her dismissal, Ann was taken aback by how effortlessly elegant she was.

She wore a pale blue dress with pearls around her neck, and her hair was straight and glossy, framing her heart-shaped face and falling over her shoulders.

She must have sensed that Ann staring at her when she, still on her call, appraised her new colleague with a sweeping glance: one that degraded her in a second and left Ann wondering why she had styled her hair in her usual twin-tails which, in comparison, looked childish and unrefined next to her dignified presence.

The car stopped once more on the way to the meeting, the passenger door opening on Ann's side and making her scoot into the middle seat to accommodate the new arrival.

"Ah! You must be Carmen-san," she said, catching Ann off guard.

The new girl was just as gorgeous as the one to her right, but with darker hair pulled away from her face to reveal her soft features and large brown eyes.

"Um, yes. How did you know?"

"Kawakami told me that we'd have a new recruit joining us this evening," the girl explained.

She linked arms with hers and gave her an encouraging squeeze.

"And you definitely look like a newbie. Don't be so nervous! My name's Alice to the guys, but you can call me Shiho."

"Call me Ann–" she replied, faltering when she belatedly registered the rest of what Shiho had said. "–Wait. Do I really look that nervous?"

Shiho dealt her a smile that seemed to warm her from the inside out.

"Pale as a sheet!"

With a cheerful friend by her side, Ann did not even register the rest of the journey until the car pulled up on the curb of what seemed to be an industrial park.

The destination would have been alarming, if not for the line of patrons queuing alongside the red brick buildings to get into what she could only guess, was a nightclub.

Exiting the sedan, Ann covertly scanned the streets for Makoto's undercover car but could not determine any vehicles of that description nearby which, she guessed, was a good sign.

Given how long it had taken them to track down the Phantom Thieves, Makoto had explained that they could not risk raising any suspicion lest they disappear again.

Where they would have put a wire on her to listen in and advise her through conversation, or even send someone in with her to be on hand should she need it, they simply could not endanger the mission – or her life – if she were caught.

As harrowing as it was, once Ann stepped into the venue and out of their line of sight, she was on her own.

She, Shiho and the other girl, were picked up by the doorman who walked them past the line of people and through the roped-off entrance.

Ascending down a flight of stairs, Ann could already feel the pumping baseline grow stronger underneath the soles of her shoes.

They followed down a dim hall lit with soft pink lights and were told to wait by the gaudy entrance marked by large, double doors and framed with vanity light bulbs.

Ann edged closer to Shiho in her unease. Weren't they supposed to be attending a business meeting? she thought.

As if on cue the doors swung open with an assault of sounds and lights and with it, emerged Kitagawa Yusuke of the Phantom Thieves.

"Your guests, Fox-san," said the doorman before he took his leave.

He received them warmly, with a grand gesture to his surroundings.

"Welcome ladies," he said, "to Marukyu Striptease..."

Yusuke was prettier in real life than he was in the photos, in a way that Ann could appreciate but personally, was not attracted to. He was too polished, too composed, and people like that tended to make her feel uneasy.

He greeted Shiho and the girl in the blue dress – who Ann to belatedly discovered went by the name of Mika – before stopping in front of her with an appraising once-over.

"And you are…?"

"Carmen," Ann cleared her throat, realising how small her voice sounded against the crowd and music next door. She bowed rigidly, "it's a pleasure to meet you, Fox-san."

Yusuke continued to stare at her for a long, timeless moment.

The way his eyes travelled over her body made her wish she was wearing several layers of thick, winter clothing.

The expression on his face was unreadable, however, as if he were thinking something through in his mind and wasn't sure of the conclusion.

Perhaps it was because she did not quite reach up to the standard he was used to – her appearance paling in comparison to Mika and Shiho who were perfectly made up and well preened.

Or maybe it was because he was suspicious of her already, able to sense her intentions from a mile off because of how painfully tense and unnatural she was acting.

_Shit._

__

__

_He knows who I am, _she concluded irrationally. _I'm done for._

Then, unexpectedly, Yusuke smiled.

"Please accept my apologies, Carmen-san. I was just taking a moment to appreciate being in the presence of your overwhelming beauty. This way."

Stunned out of a response, Ann allowed him to place a hand on the small of her back and usher her through the doors and the throng of animated bodies on the other side.

The clubs interior reminded her of something like an old movie theatre crossed with a seedy strip club, garnished with hanging chandeliers and plush seating around tables elevated for drinks and dancers.

Thankfully, Yusuke was leading them away from the crowd and up an iron spiral staircase, to a private area that was far enough to be able to hear your own thoughts, but still oversee the festivities below.

"Skull, Joker," he announced before Ann could even put two and two together. "I've brought our honoured guests for the evening..."

There was no hiding the shock on her face when her eyes locked with those behind the thick-rimmed glasses she knew so well.

She expected to only be meeting Yusuke that evening, maybe some other affiliates of the Phantom Thieves, but had not come prepared to be face-to-face with their leader: the man whom the nation's intelligence had been unable to track down for over three years.

They were sure that he had left the country, disappeared off the map, but here he was, sitting in front of her with his arms slung casually over the back of his seat as if Nijima Makoto and her entire SWAT team were not outside, ready to shut down and storm the establishment for his benefit.

His gaze snapped towards her as if he could read her thoughts. And of those that were running her mind at that moment, the only one that made sense to her then was that his eyes were pretty and grey.

Mika shoved her forward in her stupor, causing her to stumble on the small step that elevated their table area.

"Don't just stand there, say hello," she hissed. "Amateurs like you piss me off. You better not drag me down tonight, ok?"

The spite in her words was just about enough to remind Ann that she had not one, but two jobs to do.

The objective of her mission was simple. She had to gather as much information on the Phantom Thieves as possible – infiltrate the group and get into their good graces, and that meant earning their trust.

She followed Shiho and Mika's lead and introduced herself to the table, taking a mental note of the names and faces around it.

There was an older man in an ill-fitted suit and slicked-back hair that didn't do much for his receding hairline. His name was Toranosuke Yoshida, to which Ann immediately recognised as the tempestuous politician she had sometimes seen giving controversial speeches on the news.

Opposite him was a younger boy called Mishima who they liked to tease. He must have barely been over the legal drinking age and was already swaying in his seat from one too many beers. The shady-looking man who kept refilling his glass was called Iwai, but he didn't say much at all.

Formalities seemed to be going well until Joker set his glass down on the table sharply, calling them to his attention without a single word.

"Fox," he spoke, low and measured. "What is the meaning of this? We were in the middle of a meeting."

Hearing the sound of his voice for the first time shook Ann to the very core.

Though there were men much older than him around the table, even she could tell that he was the one in charge. It was painfully evident in his posture, his sophisticated bearing and the way his black, expensive suit fitted like a second skin.

Only Yusuke and Ryuji appeared unperturbed by his outburst.

"Oh, lighten up, Joker," the blonde dismissed. He turned to Shiho, who he had been speaking to before Joker's interruption. "You'll have to forgive our Leader. Only he can turn a bachelor party into a business opportunity..."

Shiho's laugh, followed by the rest of table joining in, eased the tension in everyone but Joker who seemed to stare daggers past Ann and directly at Fox.

A mental conversation between them ensued and admitting defeat, Yusuke stood and gestured towards the spiral staircase.

"Ladies, if you could excuse us for a moment. Please feel free to order some drinks from the bar downstairs and put them on our tab."

Dutifully and without question, Mika and Shiho stood and tugged Ann with them. They were both well versed in the unspoken rule that outsiders were not allowed to be present whilst the men were conducting business.

"Hey," Shiho nudged her when Mika was out of earshot. "Is everything ok?"

At this point, Ann did not realise that she was pouting, having just been dismissed from what was probably a very useful and top-secret conversation.

"I'm fine," she replied, not lying entirely when she explained, "I...I guess I'm still a little nervous."

Deciding that her colleague was in dire need of some liquid courage, Shiho took them to the long, sweeping bar that was illuminated with shelves upon shelves of expensive champagnes, wines and spirits.

She ordered a bottle of Dom Pérignon and laughed at Ann's expression when the barman returned with the bill.

"Loosen up!" she teased and succeeded to make the girl tense up even more.

Shiho bent her head towards hers and lowered her voice so that only she could hear it.

"You know, you're pretty lucky this is your first job," she confessed. "It's not every day you get clients who aren't twice our age or even older. Usually, we'd be sitting through a boring dinner or playing the perfect girlfriend at a charity auction. I know these guys seem shady but they know how to have fun…!"

The barman poured their drinks into delicate flute glasses and the girls toasted to the evening ahead of them, to their new friendship, one Ann, who never had close female friends before, already cherished.

The champagne tasted nothing like the cheap bottles from the supermarket that she would usually receive on special occasions, and as she hungrily drained her second glass, Ann convinced herself that her act would be more 'authentic' if she did indeed appear to be having 'fun' like a girl her age would.

Soon enough, the DJ mixed in a song that Shiho claimed was her 'jam' and Ann was dragged onto the dance floor after her.

It didn't take long for the duo to attract members of the opposite sex, most looking for a dance but perhaps something more, given their suggestive looks and wandering hands at the shape of her waist and her hips.

On any other day, Ann would have shied away from the attention. But tonight, she was Carmen: a woman that was confident, sexy and had men eating out of the palm of her hand.

She copied Shiho's effortlessly sensual moves and pressed against her partner's hands encouragingly, losing herself in the moment that by the fourth or fifth song, Ann had completely lost track of time and her friend.

Tearing herself away from a particularly persistent suitor, she headed back to the bar where she guessed Shiho would be waiting, only to find Joker standing in her place.

He stood tall, hands in his trouser pockets as he waited for the barman to finish mixing his drink.

He caught her gaze and quirked a brow at her, probably wondering why she had frozen on the spot at his appearance.

Taking a steadying breath, Ann came to his side and, for the first time, took a good look at the man she had been taught to fear.

Even in her heels, he towered over her and was surprisingly, very handsome up close. Not in an obvious way like Yusuke was, but he, nor anyone else in their group, were like anything she expected 'gangsters' to be.

She had envisioned matching leather jackets, piercings and face tattoos, but all three of them were surprisingly well-groomed and impeccably dressed like the 'businessmen' they claimed they were.

She opened her mouth to greet him but the barman beat her to the punch.

"A drink for your girlfriend?" he said, with a smile aimed in her direction.

Ann couldn't help but blush at the assumption, even more so when Joker did not deny it.

"She'll have a bottle of water," he spoke in a reproachful way.

It took Ann a minute to realise what he was insinuating but when she did, wished that she still had Shiho's bottle of champagne to nurse.

She could see now, from where they were standing, that Joker had an unobstructed view of the dancefloor and must have seen her out there with other men on his time.

The barman returned and cracking open the seal of the bottle of water, Joker handed it to her with the most calculated expression: watching as she gulped down at least half of its contents before he appeared to be satisfied.

Despite the obvious insult, her parched throat thanked her so she felt the need to thank him too, receiving only a slight nod as a response from the man before reaching for his own drink on the counter.

The silence that stretched between them was deafening, even in the midst of that busy bar.

There were couples on dates, faces drifting close, and a group of birthday celebrants singing at the top of their lungs – but all Ann could bring herself to focus on was Joker. She wondered why she happened to like looking at him so much: at his dark hair and arrogant posture, how he maintained that hubris with every fluid change of stance.

After an immaterial amount of uninterrupted ogling, he turned back to her and asked: "Why are you still here?"

Ann felt her whole body flush from her neck to her toes.

"I – I thought we could go back to the others together," she explained, reminding them both that she was present that evening for his benefit.

He looked grimly amused.

"You didn't seem very concerned about that a few minutes ago."

Ann's brain stuttered to a halt, unable to think of much else besides the internal shame she felt for having lost sight of her objectives so easily.

Before she could articulate an appropriate response, Joker tipped the remaining contents of his glass past his lips, perhaps to indicate that he was uninterested in any excuse she could come up with.

Then, unexpectedly, he reached out for her – taking her by the hand to lead them back through the crowd.

Ann was too shocked to pull away, powerless to the searing sensation that came with his touch and the dangerous sense of curiosity bubbling up inside of her.

The way he spoke and the way he acted towards her was so contrary, she could not figure out what he thought of her.

But was surprised her the most, when looking down at his hand clasped around her own, was just how much she wanted him to like her.

For the mission, of course.

Negotiations must have gone well because, by the time they had climbed the spiral staircase and arrived back at their table, there were several bottles of whisky being poured, alongside lines of white powder and rolled up 10,000 yen bills.

Ann averted her eyes to keep her face from mirroring her disapproving thoughts.

A cause for celebration, indeed.

The party welcomed them back as they took their seats at the head of the table, Joker releasing her hand to pour her another glass of water.

She couldn't help but be insulted by his assumption that she couldn't handle her drink but didn't dare say otherwise as she took the beverage from him and thanked him gratefully instead.

"Ah! You found her," said Yoshida, pink in the face and wiggling his brows. "He was wondering where you'd disappeared to!"

At his comment, Ann noticed that Shiho was deep in conversation with Skull and that Mika was nestled closely in between Yoshida and Fox.

It was easy to deduce who she was supposed to be paired with – explaining why Joker had come to collect her and why he seemed to be pissed off about that fact.

He said nothing, helping himself to a quarter glass of whisky whilst Ann sipped at her own drink in quiet resentment.

She wished that it was something stronger, after having just witnessed Yoshida drag a giggling Mika into his lap.

Apparently, it was to gain better access to her breasts and the white powder he had spread across them.

"You shouldn't judge," Joker said when he caught her staring. "She's putting a hell of a lot more effort into keeping her client entertained than you are at the moment."

Ann spun her head towards him, mortified.

"I wasn't thinking anything..."

She couldn't find the words to finish her sentence, because her attention shifted from his accusation to the way that he was looking at her then: with a primal simmer that burned behind his grey stare.

Her face lit up when she realised the greater implication of his statement.

_Wait._

__

__

_Does...does he want me to sit on his lap?!_

She held her burning cheeks in her palms.

It was true that she had not been the perfect host that he was paying her to be, but in her defence, the man had made it difficult for Ann to decide how to act around him.

There were moments during that evening where she was sure he disliked her, to the point where she had been afraid to speak.

He did not seem pleased by their arrival, annoyed by the distraction that she and the other girls brought. Nor did he seem overly impressed with her drinking and dancing with other guys.

But there were other times, like now, where she was certain that he wanted her.

Ann had been on the receiving end of those kinds of affections before, recognising the way his pupils tracked over her figure, starting at her bare thighs and working their way up to her face, taking unashamed note of every curve he found en route.

Her pores prickled with a depth of awareness that she did not believe was possible until now. It was unnerving, that not a single part of him was touching her and yet she could feel him all over her skin.

She returned his gaze with a measure of curiosity. It was ridiculous, given her situation, that she was wondering how it would feel like to be held by him, if he would kiss her with the same intensity as his stare.

Joker released her from his spell to light a cigarette that Iwai had offered him, refusing to partake in the other 'activities' because he liked to keep a level head.

He took a long pull and released a cloud of white smoke across the table, leaving Ann struggling to recall exactly why she disliked the habit when on him, it was almost mesmerising to watch: everything from his thin, parted lips and his sculpted jawline.

"How much are you?" he asked her, abruptly.

Unprepared for his question, Ann looked over at Fox, hoping that he had overheard and would be able to intervene.

Unfortunately, the man was now distracted, gushing over a nearby sculpture displayed in the corner of the room.

"I – I'm afraid you'll have to ask your colleague for the price he agreed with Kawakami..." she opted for the diplomatic response.

In truth, Ann knew exactly how much she was being paid but was told during her induction with Kawakami that it was impolite to discuss money when she was supposed to be entertaining.

Ann was all the more reluctant to disclose the information, given how unimpressed he seemed to be with her. She was almost embarrassed by the amount that he was being charged for a single night, because it was more than her monthly salary at the security agency and some.

She cleared her throat, levelling her voice to a professional drawl.

"If you have any issues with the pricing, then please speak to her about–"

"–I'm not talking about Kawakami's hourly fee," Joker interrupted, his voice lowering to a volume that only she could hear. "I'm talking about an evening in my bed doing anything I want you to."

Ann dealt him a veiled glance of disbelief.

Even after her suspicions, the confirmation of his desire for her was as outright as a slap in the face.

And if he were any other guy in the world, that was exactly what he would have received.

She bristled at his audacity and the effort it took her to remain composed.

"I don't...we're not that kind of service, Joker-san. Kawakami doesn't let her girls do that–"

"–Bullshit," Joker cut her off with ruthless, icy precision. "All of Kawakami's girls have offered me a price off the books. I want to know what's yours."

Ann tilted her chin up at him decisively.

"I don't have one."

There was a tense couple of seconds where she thought he would insist but to her brief respite, Joker leant back into his seat and reached for his drink instead.

"Interesting," he said.

"You don't believe me?" she demanded with quiet fury, to which Joker responded with an indifferent shrug:

"I figured all women of your profession are looking for an easy ride in life. And what's an easier _ride_ than one with a large paycheck at the end of it?"

Ann's set her jaw, vision turning red.

Remarkably, she was not insulted by his assumption of her but rather of Shiho, who she was already harbouring a certain protectiveness for.

She had found out earlier that the girl was working for Kawakami to help pay for her father's medical bills, and that she was putting herself through college in the day as well.

How dare he look down on her, she thought, when he had probably done worse to earn his money?

So before her mind could think it through, Ann grabbed her glass of water from the table and threw its contents over his face – ice, lemon slices and all.

She stood up sharply, glaring down at his sopping wet hair and the look of shock through his water-tinted glasses. The cigarette that he still held between his fingers was broken and most likely extinguished from the assault.

"How dare you," she seethed. "Men like you _disgust_ me."

The whole table hushed, her actions evidently unforgivable given the look of collective horror on everyone's faces.

Without much consideration on what she was supposed to do next, Ann's emotions plummeted from unbridled wrath to being aghast at her behaviour and the sheer disregard for her life.

Surely, she was done for now.

Taking advantage of their stupor, Ann decided to grab her bag and made a run for it – heart racing in her chest and legs threatening to fold underneath her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for getting this far, dear reader! Please let me know what you think. I will be posting new chapters every month, so stay tuned.


	3. Friends Close, Enemies Closer

The young secretary struggled to keep up in her heels after the group of men making their way to her employer's office, uninvited.

They strode down the corridor, leaving destruction in their wake, swinging baseball bats into decorative plants and running their blades through the canvas of priceless paintings.

She winced when a Qing dynasty vase was catapulted into oblivion.

She did not get paid enough to deal with this.

"Excuse me, sir!"

In one final attempt to stop them, the secretary lunged in front of the man heading the group and spread her arms.

"Sir! I'm afraid I can't allow you to go any further! You will need to make an appointment to speak to Mr Okumura in person–!"

"–An appointment?" the man appeared to be insulted by her weak attempt at an intervention. "Do you know who we _are_?"

The young secretary took a step back from their gigantic presence.

It was her first week on the job, so she genuinely didn't.

The intruders were dressed in all black and wore masquerade-type masks that covered half of their faces. When they had first walked in, she thought that they were early trick-or-treaters or something.

She shook her head timidly, fearing that she had angered the man all the more when he shouted directly into her face:

"We're the _mother fucking_ Phantom Thieves!"

Shoving the poor girl out of their way, the group burst noisily through the doors into Okumura's office.

On the other side, they found the CEO occupied on a call whilst surveying his empire through the floor to ceiling windows behind his desk.

He looked over his shoulder at them with marked disinterest and said into the receiver: "you'll have to excuse me, Shido-san, I have some unexpected visitors..."

The boys stood in the middle of his office awkwardly whilst he finished up his conversation.

Even at a seconds glance, Okumura Kunikazu had the bearing of the ambitious, egotistical man he was rumoured to be.

He had little time or respect for those he regarded as lower-class and beneath him, evident by his audacity to sign off on his call and then proceed to type a quick message, thumbs working across the screen before turning back to them to say:

"Right. And who are you supposed to be?"

The older man surveyed his intruders with a look of distaste.

The mouthy one at the front had short dark hair and was small, even meek-looking, if not for his obvious advantage in numbers. He must not have been a day older than eighteen.

He sighed.

"Don't tell me Ryuji is sending children to conduct business with me now?"

"We're not kids!" one of them shouted aggressively. "We're here on behalf of the Phantom–"

"–Yes, yes, I know who they are and what they want."

Okumura walked around his desk to the table where a crystal cut decanter and matching glasses were displayed. He poured himself a stiff drink, swallowing it down with a slight grimace before he continued.

"I had told them already, this is absurd," he said, gesturing towards a stack of papers on his desk. "I won't sign it – and you can tell Ryuji that I don't appreciate him sending young delinquents to my offices to wreak havoc in the middle of a working day, either."

The intruders looked to each other for guidance, apparently unprepared for the pushback they were receiving.

"D–Don't act like you're better than us. We know what kind of man you are, what you've done to people–!"

"–And how is what I've done any worse than what the Phantom Thieves do?" Okumura scoffed. "You think that the false sense of justice that you serve is some sort of penance for your own, heinous crimes?"

He scoffed, placing his empty glass down onto his desk and reaching for the internal phone line.

"You should be thankful that I've waited this long to call security..."

As he did, their ringleader crossed the threshold of the room towards him in two or three quick strides.

Before Okumura had a chance to pick up the receiver, he ripped the entire handset from its cables and threw the device across the hardwood floors, it's parts dispersing to all four corners of the room.

He grabbed the man from the cravat around his neck and pulled his face close enough to smell the morning coffee on his breath.

"Listen here, you old _fuck_," the boy growled, lips curling over his gums and baring a line straight, white teeth. "We have strict orders to do whatever the hell we need to get these papers from you – signed. So you can either start cooperating or we can go about it in another way, which will involve breaking each one of your fingers until you can barely write your _fucking_ name."

Despite his age, Okumura was taller than the boy and easily tore himself out of his assailant's grip. He fell back against his executive chair from the effort, face flushed with outrage.

"How dare you!" he seethed. "I've already given you people everything! Now you want me to step down and let my idiot daughter take over the business that I built from nothing? There's no chance in hell–"

Okumura abruptly paused in the middle of his sentence, recognising the shortness of his breath.

A violent cough jolted through him and a light layer of sweat appeared across his forehead.

Suddenly, he staggered to the floor, one hand reaching for anything he could on the way down and the other, clutching at his chest.

The boy who had grabbed him earlier appeared wholly unimpressed.

"Get up, old man."

"Uh, Mishima. I think he's actually–"

"–Help," Okumura looked as if he was struggling to breathe. He struggled onto his hands and knees and begged, "call someone, please–"

"–Like hell we will!" Mishima fumed, stomping the man back down to the ground and breaking the glasses on his face in the process.

Okumura groaned, apparently writhing with a pain that was clawing him from the inside out.

The intruders watched, paralysed as to what to do next.

With a final, strangled noise from the back of his throat, Okumura took his last breath and fell limp on the floor beneath Mishima's feet.

A whole minute might have passed before one of the boys thought to approach the body to feel for a pulse.

His confirmation of the presence of none threw the others into a state of panic.

Mishima went to kick over a nearby chair that was heavier than it looked, cursing to himself upon impact.

"Fuck!"

The others looked to each other for guidance as their ringleader clearly was becoming unhinged.

"Did...did we kill him?"

"Oh my god. What do we do?"

"Shall we call Skull?"

"We'll call him on the way out," Mishima instructed decisively. "We just need to get out of here, fast."

Thinking on his feet, he reached over Okumura's body to retrieve the unsigned papers on his desk, stowing them in his inside jacket pocket before striding towards the exit with haste.

Through the doors, they passed the young secretary still dusting herself off from their earlier assault.

Mishima dealt her the briefest glance before disappearing down the hallway and out of sight.

"Call an ambulance," he said.

* * *

Le Blanc was not the most popular cafe in the Yongen-Jaya, but it still maintained a steady stream of customers over the years due to its wide variety of artisan coffee beans and exceptionally powerful wi-fi connection.

Business was slow, but it was late on a Tuesday afternoon and the lunchtime rush had already passed.

There was only one other customer besides Futaba – who didn't really count – minding his own business in one of the booths, surrounded by papers and piles college textbooks.

Mona, Futaba's black tomcat with white-tipped paws, was asleep on the counter next to her laptop, enjoying the slight heat that came off of its fan. He did this, brazenly, despite Sojiro's futile attempts to enforce a no-pets-near-the-coffee-beans rule.

With the sixth sense that cats are said to have, Mona's ears pricked and his yellow eyes blinked awake from his slumber, staring at the cafe's entrance in an expectant way.

Not a second later, the door swung open violently, struggling on its hinges and slammed into the wall on the other side.

In stomped Ryuji in his heavy army boots, followed in quick succession by Yusuke and Akira to add to the domineering presence.

"_Out_," was all Ryuji had to say to send the college boy packing, juggling his half-zipped backpack, school books and laptop in his arms.

Mona jumped from the counter to the booth that he had vacated, where the Phantom Thieves took up leisurely pursuit.

He curled up by Akira's side and Sojiro placed his hands on his hips with his exasperation.

"Don't ya think with all the money you guys have, you could use of some of it to find a better hide-out spot than coming back here all the time and scaring off my customers?"

Futaba rested her headphones around her neck and sent him an apologetic look on behalf of her colleagues.

"Forgive us, Sojiro-san," she said, hopping off her bar stool. "It's an emergency."

Always with a soft spot for his adopted daughter, the older man shook his head and swung a dishcloth over his shoulder, grumbling to himself as he retreated to the back kitchen.

Ryuji raised a brow at Futaba as she set her laptop down on the table to join them.

"You know?"

"Of course," Futaba grinned, "I know everything."

The blonde appeared impressed until she shrugged her small shoulders and admitted, quietly:

"I mean, it's kinda all over Twitter already–"

"–What?!"

"Good," said Akira, with a tone that called them to his attention. "So we're all aware. Okumura was found dead in his office this morning and apparently, we have something to do with it."

There was a brief silence as the team contemplated the gravity of that statement.

Okumura Kunikazu was a famous, influential man, and those types of men tended to have sinister sides and even deeper pockets.

That was why they were interested in him in the first place, and why he was certainly more useful alive to them than dead.

"Do we know what even happened?" Futaba finally asked, to which Ryuji replied with gritted teeth:

"Yeah. And he's on his way over to explain himself now..."

Sojiro re-emerged with some fresh coffee beans and fed them into the machine that fired up like an old steam train engine.

Though he didn't like to involve himself in his nephews business, he knew that they would need a good drink after what was about to happen – and it was still too early to bring out the hard liquor.

He placed their mugs on the table and refused the money Akira tried to give him, citing that he needed to go to the supermarket anyway and would appreciate if they cleaned up any mess they'd have made before he got back.

Akira, being the man that he was, waved off his concerns. He cracked open one of the windows of the cafe and lit the cigarette that was tucked behind his ear and for the briefest moment, reminded Sojiro of the rebellious teen he had taken in all those years ago.

He sighed, securing the hat on his head before he left.

Some things never changed.

The four waited in comfortable silence, nursing their drinks until their culprit came stumbling through the doors. It was clear that his abductors had already done the job of roughing him up when they unceremoniously dumped his limp body on to the shop floor.

The trio stood from their seats in an unhurried manner.

Akira rose a hand at the henchmen to dismiss them, whilst the boy squirmed and whimpered at their feet.

"Mishima. Nice of you to join us."

The boy struggled into his hands and knees.

"Leader, please–"

But before he could articulate an explanation, the already incensed Ryuji took out his handgun and smacked him in the back of the head with its handle, forcing him back down to the ground with a stomach curdling crunch of bones and blood.

"We gave you one fucking job, Mishima…!"

He whimpered under their mercy, whilst Futaba watched on without a flinch.

Ryuji reached down and grabbed a fistful of his bloodied shirt, "what the fuck do you think you're playing at, huh?"

"I–I didn't mean to kill him, I swear," the boy wept. Even as Ryuji tightened his grip, he looked over his shoulder at Akira with teary, bloodshot eyes and pleaded: "you've gotta believe me, Leader. It was the last thing I wanted–"

"–Then what the hell were you doing, storming in shouting _Phantom Thieves_ this, _Phantom Thieves_ that–"

"–I just wanted to rough him up, scare him a bit," Mishima blubbered to Ryuji. "He wasn't cooperating, he was saying bad things about you and–"

"–And you brought it upon yourself to teach him a lesson on our behalf?"

Having heard enough, Ryuji cocked his gun and pressed the barrel square between Mishima's brows.

Knowing what was coming, Futaba averted her gaze whilst Yusuke and Akira observed with an almost ruthless impassivity.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"I just–" Mishima hiccuped remorsefully. "–I just I wanted to be part of the Phantom Thieves…"

Ryuji released a strangled noise through gritted teeth, his finger ready to squeeze the trigger when Akira stepped forward and said:

"Enough."

As if he had flipped an off switch, Ryuji lowered his gun and moved aside to allow Akira to crouch down to their victims level, his expression and intention still utterly unreadable.

"Sit up, Mishima."

Obediently, the boy straightened and sat back on his feet, mustering up the last of his resolve to face the man who would most likely be his executioner.

He was, however, incredibly calm in contrast to Ryuji's literal assault just moments before.

"You know," he said, his tone suspiciously conversational. "You've put us in a very sticky situation..."

Mishima was quick to his defence.

"I know, Leader, but I didn't mean to – he just – he just dropped dead–"

"–I get it," Akira cut him off, ruthlessly. "It wasn't your fault the old man had a weak heart."

Taken aback by his understanding, Mishima squeezed his eyes shut. He nodded his head fervently, sending tears streaming down his face.

Akira sat back and surveyed the boy, practically begging for his life.

And whilst he left him waiting like he a convict on death row, he reached inside his jacket pocket to produce another cigarette, which he lit and smoked with agonising composure.

He took a long drag and released a smokey cloud into Mishima's face and though the boy tried, he could not stop a cough escape from his beaten chest.

"The thing is, Mishima," Akira spoke to him last. "Being a Phantom Thief isn't about throwing your weight around and intimidating every prick who thinks he's better than us. We're bigger than our egos. We rise above."

The younger boy nodded again, not daring to look or even breathe around him as Akira took another long drag of his cigarette. 

"...That's why you're not a Phantom Thief," he completed. "You still have a lot to learn."

With that, Akira stood up and went to the bar counter, stubbing out his cigarette and the tension in the room with it.

He turned back to the boy and said, to everyone's surprise:

"Go on then," he gestured out the door and one turn left. "Head to Tae's and get yourself fixed up."

At this final verdict, Yusuke's eyebrows rose halfway up to his hairline, whilst Futaba looked almost relieved.

Ryuji, on the other hand, was gobsmacked.

He couldn't even find the words to protest until Mishima was limping out of the cafe and already on his way.

"What the hell just happened?!" he exclaimed, to everyone and himself. "We're just gonna let him off like that?!"

The moment seemed to have already become a distant memory for their Leader, who was reaching for a green apron and the mop and bucket that was tucked behind the bar.

There was blood already soaking into crevasses of the wooden floors, and Sojiro would kill him if it left a stain.

"He made a mistake, and he's learnt from it, right?"

Ryuji slammed his hands down on the counter between them.

"Okumura was Haru's only family–!"

"–Yes, but you and I both know the world is a better place without him in it."

Silence fell and harsh as it sounded, no one in the room could bring themselves to disagree with him. It was true that they felt no remorse at the news of his death, only concern for their friend and the implication of their involvement.

Nevertheless, Ryuji scoffed, unsure of whether he was still pissed off or amused by his friend's final decision.

"You've gotten soft," he said, which made Akira smile.

"No use getting rid of loyal men, Skull. Especially in this economic climate..."

Yusuke, who had been largely uninvolved in the interrogation until now, looked at his watch and yawned. He was acting as if what just happened had inconvenienced him, if not anything else.

"Well then. If we're all done here, I'm going to get back to the studio and get some _real_ work done."

He rose from his seat and made his way to the exit, without as much as a bid farewell to his colleagues.

Futaba blinked up from her laptop at the sound of his departure.

"What's wrong with Fox?" she asked.

Ryuji snorted into his coffee cup.

"He's still mad at Joker for upsetting some Arcana girl the other night," he replied.

Akira, who was still mopping the area where Mishima was, did not even bother looking up to join the conversation.

"He should know better than to waste my money on hiring girls from Kawakami."

Ryuji pursed his lips, thinking it unlike his friend to display such hostility towards someone who did nothing wrong in particular.

Especially one as pretty as the girl in question.

He asked out of curiosity: "what did you say to her, by the way? To make her so upset?"

"Nothing she probably hasn't heard before in her profession," Akira replied, bluntly.

Ryuji exchanged a look with Futaba. The girl raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

Whoever she was, she really must have gotten under his skin.

"Kawakami is pissed with you as well, you know," Ryuji continued, as ways to warn him. "Said that you of all people should know that some girls have no other choice and are just trying to make a living. She said you were – in her own words – being a real ass."

Dealt with that blow of a judgement, Akira paused in his mopping to ruminate on his behaviour for the first time since that evening.

He had always been a good judge of character – past experience made sure that he was – but his immediate attraction for the girl had made it nearly impossible to maintain the natural cynicism he had held against people he was unfamiliar with.

Because when she first walked in, she had left him speechless and without his usual defences; wanting nothing more than to forget everything and everyone else around them and lose himself inside of her for days.

Of course, he resisted the temptation. In his line of work, Akira could not afford to let his guard down, so he acted out in the only way he knew would keep her at bay.

He projected onto her the persona of the typical, wanton women Kawakami had sent to him before. And he had almost convinced himself that she was one and the same when he saw her out on the dance floor with those other men.

That had pissed him off to no end, but when she came to him at the bar and only wanted to look at him, he could tell from the offset that she was different – in what way, he wasn't yet sure.

Whoever she was, she was emotional; she wore her sentiments in her sleeve, and it was hard to be suspicious of someone who, on the surface, was so easy to read.

Because of this, Akira could tell that she liked him – yes, he had no doubt that his feelings were returned – but when she threw that glass of ice-cold water over his head, he was not annoyed but impressed by her resolve.

He went to untie his apron, trying hard to prevent a smile from appearing on his face.

In hindsight, perhaps Ryuji was right: maybe she was harmless. Maybe he had been too harsh.

Years of being too trusting towards others and getting screwed over by the country's corrupt justice system would do that to you.

"Fine," Akira finally decided. "I'll stop by and apologise to Kawakami later today."

Ryuji sat up in his seat.

"And the girl?"

"I didn't even get her name."

His friend sent him a pained look.

"Dude, really? It was Carmen."

"Right," Akira nodded, though it was clear he didn't believe that was her real name, either. "I'll think of a way to make amends."

Seemingly satisfied after restoring some order to the world, Ryuji finished off his drink and made to leave.

"Good. A productive team meeting, I think," he added, humorously. "If you both would excuse me, I've got a wedding to plan."

As Ryuji stalked out of the cafe, hands in his pockets, Futaba turned up the news on the TV that was fixed to the far wall of the cafe.

There were images of Okumura already making the rounds and being printed for the afternoon newsreels.

As the newscaster spoke, a banner with text scrolling across the screen read:

**BREAKING: OKUMURA KUNIKAZU, CEO OF OKUMURA FOODS, FOUND DEAD IN HIS OFFICE THIS MORNING, AGED 59...**

"...According to witnesses and first responders, he was last seen alive by members of the Phantom Thieves. Employees of Okumura Foods claim that the members of the criminal gang arrived at their head offices unsolicited, and demanding an audience with the late CEO... "

Mona jumped up onto the table between them, meowing for their divided attention. Futaba stroked at his head and he purred and pressed into her touch.

"So," she said. "What are we going to do, Leader?"  


* * *

"You did—_what_?"

Ann had been dreading this briefing ever since her disastrous evening with the Phantom Thieves.

She was seated, in her modest grey suit and staring down at her fists rested on top of her thighs, trying not to make eye contact with any of the ten or so superiors in that board room with her.

To further her embarrassment, Commissioner Kobayakawa of the Public Security Intelligence Agency was present for the meeting. He was a grossly overweight, balding man who's neck rolls could barely be contained by the collar of his shirt.

Nevertheless, he was the most senior member of the force Ann had ever had to report to – the experience leaving her wishing that the ground would open and swallow her whole when he, completely unnecessarily, decided to repeat her account of the evening to the rest of the panel.

"Are you telling me," said Kobayakawa in a condescending tone. "That you threw a glass of water at _Kusuru Akira_ of the Phantom Thieves because he said something to upset you and you lost your temper?"

Still staring steadfastly down at her hands, Ann produced a small nod in resignation.

She knew she screwed up, she didn't need reminding of that fact. It was enough humiliation that everyone in that room had already been set to see her fail, and she had gone and done just as they expected.

It broke her heart. How could anyone take her seriously, now?

Kamoshida Suguru, the chief superintendent of their Tokyo office, had been tossing around a baseball throughout Ann's testimony, pausing only to contribute its conclusion.

"So, the mission is a dud," he said, his voice bored and pessimistic as if he had better things to do with his time.

"I wouldn't say that," Makoto spoke up in her defence. "It's not as if we have come away with nothing. Takamaki-san has uncovered several useful sources of information. One of which being confirmation that Kusuru Akira is alive and in the country. We also have the names of his new confidants that we can bring in for questioning–"

"–Who he will cut ties with or worse, dispose of them in creative ways when he finds out that we're on to them," Kamoshida cut in, cynically. "They're lawless mobsters, Nijima. Not people we can tip-toe around and negotiate with."

Ann could feel the girl to the right of her struggle to contain her resentment.

"We can't just give up on the mission–"

"–Well, it's not like we had a choice since you sent an under-qualified _Barbie_ out into the field," Commissioner Kobayakawa interrupted, with a crude gesture in Ann's direction.

An uneasy silence fell across the table at his comment. Only Kamoshida seemed to be relishing the awkward atmosphere that followed, smiling wickedly to himself as if what the man had said was amusing and not unforgivably bigoted and misogynistic.

Kobayakawa struggled to stand from his chair and the rest of the table followed suit.

"Let's adjourn for now, take a breather and rethink our approach."

Ann and Makoto also stood but stayed put at the far end of the table, heads bowed respectfully as the other members of the team filed out of the room.

Kamoshida approached Ann on the way out, passing an unsubtle hand over the curve of her behind.

"Don't be too upset, Takamaki-san," he said, giving it a light squeeze. "I was missing seeing you around the office, anyways."

He winked at her before he left and Ann's face coloured with barely concealed embarrassment and rage, especially when she caught Makoto's disapproving stare.

"I–It's not like that with me and him," she explained, after the room had emptied out. "I swear."

"Relax, Takamaki," her senior said to reassure her. "I believe you. Unlike everyone else in this building, I prefer not to indulge myself in the office gossip."

As she spoke, Makoto's brown eyes narrowed at the door Kamoshida had just exited from, angry at him and angry at herself for not being able to protect her colleagues from his deranged behaviours.

"Thank you. No one else but you believes me," Ann murmured, as if she had read her thoughts. "I even complained to Human Resources and they said that was 'just how Kamoshida Suguru is'. They even suggested that it was my fault for seducing him with the way that I dressed."

Makoto gripped at the back of her chair and fumed.

"He is a deplorable, sorry excuse for a detective. Kamoshida has everyone in this building in the palm of his hand and everyone else in fear of what he'll do if they don't fall in line."

Ann's throat flashed, startled by her colleague's barefaced resentment but sharing in its sentiment all the same.

"Do you think he's right?" she asked, her voice fragile. "That the mission is over?"

Makoto shrugged as she collected her paperwork from the table. Though she appeared to be at a loss, she remained determined, reminding Ann that: "we won't know until they try to contact you again."

Just as that was said, the meeting room door burst open, startling them both as Kobayakawa stood in its frame: his neck rolls practically gleaming with the exertion.

"Nijima, get out here – _now_."

The flat-screen TVs that were displayed around the office had been tuned in to several news stations, all of them broadcasting the news of Okumura Kunikazu's death that same morning.

Not only that, but all reports pointed to foul play and the involvement of the Phantom Thieves.

Kobayakawa knocked over a pile of paperwork on a nearby desk to vent his range.

"Do you see this Nijima? This is what happens when you don't do your _fucking_ job!"

Rendered speechless, Makoto was unable to conjure a defence before Kobayakawa continued his tirade around their office floor.

"Get our men on the scene. Get someone to the hospital before they finish the autopsy," he was shouting. "Find out what the fuck just happened...!"

As if on autopilot, Makoto returned to her cubicle to retrieve her badge and coat. She slipped it on, collars turned up and shielding half of her face.

"Hey, Takamaki-san," she said to Ann before she left. "Have you ever seen a dead body before?"

* * *

Despite his pale blue lips and deathly stillness, it was just as if he were sleeping, as comfortably as one can on that cold, metal bed.

Ann, accompanied by Makoto and Kamoshida, made their way to Tokai University Hospital and were met by one of their doctors in the lobby, expecting their arrival.

"Officers," the young attendant greeted them pleasantly. "I am doctor Maruki Takuto. Kobayakawa-san called ahead to say that you were on your way. I understand that you want to speak to the doctor who performed the autopsy on Okumura Kunikazu."

"Yes," Makoto spoke up before Kamoshida could. "If possible, we would like to see the body too."

Without delay, Doctor Maruki lead them through the pristinely bleached corridors towards a lift that would take them down to the basement floor.

On the journey, he explained: "the doctor that received the body had the graveyard shift and has already left for the day. But I have her notes, and Okumura's daughter came to identify the body with me this afternoon..."

Exiting the lift, Maruki swiped the access card on the garland around his neck to let them into a chilled room that had little else but rows and rows of thirty by thirty-inch metal chambers.

A shiver worked up Ann's spine, and she was sure it had nothing to do with the change of temperature.

Referring to the chart in his hand, Doctor Maruki located the body that they were looking for and pulled it out from its gurney with a cloud of white steam, similar to opening a fridge freezer.

Ann averted her eyes when he lifted the blanket that had been draped over Okumura's freshly deceased corpse, whilst Makoto, who had a better stomach for this sort of thing, was first to ask:

"Was your colleague able to determine the cause of death?"

"Yes," the Doctor confirmed to everyone's surprise, "Okumura-san died from a severe heart attack."

The clock on the wall ticked ten times whilst Kamoshida gaped at him, dumbly.

"Wait – what?"

The young doctor leafed through the patient's flip chart, indicating on the body where points of interest had been marked.

"There were some minor abrasions around his neck, shoulders and arms, but nothing too significant. Blood work came back clear too..."

He talked through the rest of the findings, confirming signs of elevated blood pressure and undiagnosed heart disease before snapping the file close and replacing the body from where it had been stowed.

He spoke again when the officers appeared to still be processing the revelation.

"...I am sorry, Nijima-san, Kamoshida-san. I've seen the news and know this was not what you were expecting. But there aren't any signs of foul play here. The man just keeled over. A high-stress job and a poor diet will do that to you."

The doctor shook his head, joking despite the dire situation.

"This is why I never shop at Okumura Foods."

Kamoshida was first to recover from his stupor, setting his square jaw harshly.

He took an intimidating step towards the helpful doctor, causing him to step back to maintain a measure of personal space.

"Listen here, Maruki," he said, his voice low and threatening. "You keep these findings to yourself, alright? The press, the police, no one else, not even his daughter, need to know the finer details–"

"–T–That's not right!" Ann protested before she could stop herself. "Shouldn't the public should know the truth? It's all over the news and it's not true! The Phantom Thieves has nothing to do with it–!"

"–And what is the point of that, Takamaki?!" Kamoshida exploded. "People already think it was the Phantom Thieves and why wouldn't they?! They are violent criminals terrorising our city! There is no use telling them otherwise!"

Recovering from his outburst, Kamoshida clicked his tongue and made towards the exit without them, muttering something about 'rookies' under his breath.

Ann turned to Doctor Maruki, features hopeful, who shrugged and explained that the patient files, especially one as high profile as Okumura's, were confidential and that there was nothing he could do.

"If I do find anything else, I will let you know," he promised and walked them back to the lobby.

Thanking the doctor for his time, Makoto and Ann left for the hospital's parking lot to find that Kamoshida had gone ahead with the police car they came in.

"What an asshole," Makoto muttered, advising the still dumbfounded Ann to: "pay no notice to him. Kamoshida is just mad because we don't have a reason to storm in and arrest the Phantom Thieves for this."

As she spoke, she took out her cell phone and opened an app to order a ride for them back to the office.

She continued, "As prolific as they are, the higher members of Phantom Thieves are good at hiding their tracks. It's hard to warrant an arrest that'll hold up in court when you don't have the evidence to back it up and several of their followers willing to take the fall for them."

Their taxi pulled up in the hospital car park promptly, just as Ann's burner phone began to ring inside of her handbag.

It took some digging to locate it, but when she did, her heart almost stopped when Kawakami's name flashed across the screen.

Makoto listened to the exchange carefully, unable to believe their luck after what was turning out to be a pretty shitty start to the day.

"It's Joker," Ann said to her after ending the call. "He...he wants to see me again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so grateful for the kudos, comments and general interest in this story! I hope this new chapter did not disappoint. Please let me know what you think if you have the time. Next chapter will be posted on the 14th of December 2019!


	4. Nothing Personal, Just Business

Haru loved flowers, but for her father – it seemed like such a waste.

He had never cared for her interest in them, nor did he pay much notice of the pretty arrangements that she had handpicked and tied from their garden herself, leaving them on display in his wing of the estate as ways to remind him that she still existed.

At his funeral, however, the small cathedral was filled with the most lavish and expensive bouquets that one could buy. There were crimson and white of roses adorning every pew and tall sprays of stargazer lilies by the church altar.

Those who came to pay their respects to her father had left their own contributions littered all over the floor in front of his casket, each guest trying to out-do the next that by the time the service ended, the pallbearers had to wade through the mismatch of pretty arrangements as if trying to escape from a swamp.

As the heavenly choir began their final hymn, Haru made her way to the entrance, stepping out into the grey morning with a forecast of light rain.

She took her place at the top of church steps, under the cover of a black umbrella that was held by one of her staff as she received the lines and lines of condolences from people who had come to pay their respects.

"That was a beautiful ceremony, Haru-chan."

Kusuru Akira was the last guest to exit the church and as he did, offered his arm to Haru who took it gratefully, steadying herself against him as they descended down the uneven path towards the church's cemetery.

"You think so?" she said, unusually unperturbed. "I suppose it was just as my father would have wanted..."

They joined the back of the long procession that followed her father's casket, made up of faces that she did not know or care for.

They were people who only knew the side of him that he wanted the world to see: the genius entrepreneur, the charitable CEO. The award-winning owner of a national conglomerate whom people wrote books about to try and emulate his successes.

They did not know of what kind of man he truly was; what he did to get to where he was in life, and what he did to the people who stood in his way.

It was fitting that his funeral was just as he had lived: another show, another mask to hide his true self.

But even after acknowledging this, Haru admitted to Akira quietly, "...I know my father was a bad person. But I still can't help feeling sad. He was my only family, after all."

"It is natural to be sad, Haru," Akira assured her. "His death was sudden and despite the way he lived his life, the man was still your father."

He released her as they neared the gathering procession. He kissed her on each cheek, his face lingering by her ear as he said:

"But you are wrong about one thing. We are your family now. Not that you'll need it, but we'll take care of you."

Haru's smile reached her eyes for the first time that day.

She squeezed his forearms gratefully.

"Thank you, Leader," she said.

As she watched her father's casket be lowered into the ground, Haru thought of the life the man had made her endure and how drastically it changed the day she met Akira and the Phantom Thieves.

She would not have heard of them if it weren't for her father, who was brought to their attention by a former worker from one of their factories.

The struggling worker with four children to feed had recently been laid off after an accident which ended with him losing one of his arms in their machines.

Instead of providing compensation or contributing to his medical bills, he was discarded by their company without notice or severance – a loophole in their employee's contrac rights that her father and his lawyers had found and, to her dismay, frequently exploited.

It was as if her father no longer saw any use for him at Okumura Foods, treating the former employee as if he were just another faulty piece of machinery that needed to be replaced.

Further investigation by the Phantom Thieves found that the company's questionable safety practices and punishing work hours were just the tip of the iceberg.

Haru knew from living with the man that her father was commanding, oppressive and had a violent temper when things did not go his way.

To her in particular, he was volatile, ruthless and manipulative. The cloak of civilisation was thin. He knew what he wanted and got it no matter the cost, even at the expense of his only daughter's happiness.

What Haru did not know was how those traits translated into how he conducted business, though, in hindsight, she should not have been surprised by his approach.

His complete disregard for the lives of others, especially that of his employees, absolutely disgusted her. And to her dismay, there were many with far worse fates than the man who had lost his arm.

Unbeknownst to Haru at the time, the Phantom Thieves were already planning their intervention, one evening, besting their tight security protocols and managing to break into the Okumura household undetected.

They had been on their way to her father's office to confront him when Ryuji spotted her through the glass doors of the conservatory.

She was arranging the flowers she had picked from the garden when he detached himself from the rest of the group to stay and watch as she trimmed the stems of some freshly cut azaleas.

When Haru finally noticed his presence, she dropped her pruning scissors in her surprise. He had gone to pick them up for her, handing them back and hovering unsurely as though a part of him was urging him to retreat.

In the end, however, he chose to stay, showing an interest in her hobbies like no other man in her life had ever done.

It had taken her by surprise, though she admitted to enjoying the attention. He asked the appropriate questions and was skilled in concealing the fact that he had undoubtedly never touched or examined a plant before in his life.

"Are you a guest of my fathers?" Haru eventually asked him, to which Ryuji had answered with a cryptic smile:

"I guess you could say that."

Naively, Haru offered to show Ryuji the way to her father's office, assuming that he had gotten lost, and by the time they had arrived at his wing of the estate, there was chaos in its place.

His office and the hallway outside of it was littered with broken furniture, papers that were strewn across the floors and her father – already at the mercy of Joker and the Phantom Thieves.

Where she should have been terrified, or even come to his defence, Haru was mesmerised by the difference that she saw in her father that day.

The Phantom Thieves were stood over his cowering state and accusing him of things that she could hardly fathom but wholly believed that he was capable of.

Their allegations were confirmed when the man was left begging, promising to right his wrongs, offering almost everything he had to them, and yes, it had scared her: but above all else filled her with a sense of empowerment.

If she could not plead with him to be a better man, then she can force him to be.

But perhaps, this time, maybe they had gone too far?

Futaba, dressed in all black but still with her neon green headphones around her neck, approached as the ceremony came to a close.

"Hey, Haru. How are you holding up?"

"Just about managing," she said and hugged the younger girl tight. "Thank you for coming. It means a lot, everyone being here today."

"Don't mention it," Futaba said into her shoulder. She pulled away and her eyes softened with her sympathy. "I am just sorry that this happened during what is supposed to be the happiest time of your life."

"Yes, it was quite unexpected," Haru replied with a degree of unconcern. "I thought about it and decided to reschedule the wedding to a later date. It will be bad press, celebrating the weekend after my father's death..."

Ryuji and Akira neared, catching the tail end of their conversation. Even in the circumstance, Haru couldn't help but tease her friend.

"...Besides, how can I host my wedding when you haven't responded to the invitation yet, Kusuru-kun?"

Caught without context, Akira regarded her warily. It was an odd question to him because Ryuji had already asked him to be the best man, so he did not think it necessary to send a formal confirmation.

"You never answered when I asked," Haru elaborated. "Will you be bringing a date?"

He replied, after a moment's contemplation.

"Yes. I suppose I might."

* * *

Ann and Shiho walked arm in arm through Ginza's shopping district, famous for its trendy fashion boutiques and designer outlet stores.

Despite her hasty departure at their last meeting, Suzui Shiho had gone out of her way to check that Ann was not too traumatised after her disaster first day of work, and the two had been inseparable ever since.

Though Ann was unable to share the finer details that amounted to her woes, Shiho and her company cheered her up immensely.

They met for lunch, spoke on the phone almost every day, and when Joker had called to request for her company again, Shiho insisted on going shopping for a brand new outfit – one that would remind him that there wasn't enough money in the world that could buy a woman like her into bed.

Picking out a few pieces to try on, a sales lady guided them to the boudoir dressing room, furnished with plush, button-tufted sofas and floor to ceiling velvet curtains for every cubicle.

She offered Shiho a glass of sparkling wine whilst she waited for her friend to get dressed. She took it gratefully, taking a delicate sip before almost immediately spitting it back out entirely when Ann emerged in her first outfit.

She wiped at the bottom of her chin.

"Holy hell, Takamaki! You look hot!" 

It was a dress that Shiho had picked, purely because she wanted to see her friend in it rather than anything else.

Even when displayed on the mannequin outside, it was like it was made for Ann's figure: showcasing her perfect, hourglass shape and an ample amount of cleavage.

Nevertheless, the outfit still held a degree of class and modesty as the skirt was long, ruffled and red, which was rapidly becoming her signature colour when acting in her persona as Carmen.

"I don't know..." Ann mused, inspecting the outfit from several angles in front of the mirror. "Isn't it a bit...much for a 'formal occasion'?"

She glanced at Shiho through her reflection.

She was trying to hold back a smile before the both of them burst into a fit of laughter, wondering what people would say if she were so bold to turn up in such attire, let alone what Joker would think of her if she did.

"You're right," Shiho decided, taking another sip of her wine. "You don't want to kill him. Classy and sophisticated it is."

Ann continued laughing to herself as she retreated back to her cubicle to try on something a little more understated and to her taste.

Shiho was right, her agency didn't want him dead.

Not yet, at least.

"Ah, that's more like it," Shiho said as she emerged in the fourth or fifth pick – a cold-shouldered gown that fell past her knees and was versatile enough to run in, if the occasion were to arise again.

Shiho paired it with a shawl and a pair of red-bottomed heels and as Ann handed her credit card to the sales lady, she tried hard not to think too much of the cost of the single outfit – justifying that she could afford it with the unexpected additional income from Kawakami for her first night of 'work'.

It amazed her that she was still paid by Kawakami after nearly losing a client, but not as much as being requested again by Joker himself.

According to the mistress, he had stopped by her offices a couple of days after they had met at Marukyu Striptease. He was apparently remorseful of his behaviour and wanted to make amends, asking if he could hire her again to accompany him to a 'formal event' the following weekend.

Kawakami admitted her reluctance, offering another, more experienced girl in her place, but he wanted _her_ and there was nothing she could say to deter him.

The woman called again, just as Ann arrived at her apartment and had dumped her numerous shopping bags on her kitchen counter.

It was just her luck, after her days worth of shopping and preparation, that Joker had called her to cancel.

It was difficult to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"Oh...that's a shame."

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Kawakami said. "I told him that we have a 72-hour cancellation policy, so he would not receive a refund for the booking. Because of this, he insisted on seeing you regardless. He will be taking you out this weekend as planned – but it will be just the two of you."

When Ann did not answer immediately, disoriented by her fluctuating emotions and even slower brain processing speed, Kawakami continued in her abstraction:

"I know you didn't have a good experience with him before, Takamaki-san, and that you must be apprehensive about spending time with him one-on-one. I made this known to him and he has agreed to meet you somewhere during the day, in public."

She paused, waiting for Ann to react before adding:

"But if you are still uncomfortable with the idea, I completely understand. I will cancel the booking and insist on him paying the cancellation fee regardless."

Ann swallowed and glanced at her purchases. Her mind was reeling.

Time alone with Joker, without his partners or bodyguards, was unheard of. If anything, this was a better opportunity than the last.

She would just have to make sure that their time together ended on a better note so that he would ask for her again, so she would have another reason to wear that pretty dress.

"No, that will be fine," Ann said, determinedly. "Please tell Joker that I am looking forward to seeing him tomorrow, Kawakami-san."

* * *

Ann arrived at the amusement park just minutes before the meeting time Kawakami had arranged on her behalf.

She had spent the morning prior preparing: trying on different outfits and applying her makeup and curling her hair into soft, romantic waves.

Makoto came to check in on her, perching on the end of her bed whilst she got ready and talked her several techniques to extract information and control her nerves to ensure that she would not screw up this time around.

Given the rather unorthodox location of their date, Ann went with black leggings matched with a cream knit jumper that slouched over her shoulders and fell cutely past her knuckles on the arms.

She knew that Kawakami would baulk at the very thought one of her girls meeting a client looking as plain as she did, but she figured that Joker would be less likely to accuse her of being a _prostitute_ if she turned up in something a little more modest this time around.

In the car ride over, Ann fussed with her hair and smoothed out the nonexistent crinkles of her clothes. Her outfit was certainly a step down from the dresses she had tried on at Roppongi Hills, but she still wanted to look presentable, a part of her curious to see if Joker would still look at her in the same way, too.

"Joker-san," she greeted on her approach. "It's good to see you again."

He was waiting for her at the amusement park entrance and must have gotten the 'dress casual' memo because the man had turned up in far less flashier attire than the tailored suit he wore at Marukyu Striptease the other night.

It was probably for the best, given that he was a wanted man and therefore would have stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the other patrons, but it still surprised her to see him dressed like any other person their age, in a long-sleeved Henley shirt and a pair of dark washed jeans.

He looked just like a normal guy, if not for the fact that he was easily more handsome than most.

He greeted her with a gaze that gilded slowly over her figure, face down. When their eyes met again, he offered nothing else but a short nod.

Ann stilled, realising that she was holding out for a compliment. In the absence of one, she pouted as she followed him into the park, berating herself for not taking Makoto's advice and wearing a pair of high heels instead.

Few words were exchanged in the queue to pay their entrance fees. Once inside, the couple were greeted by the excited screams of other patrons on rollercoaster rides, and the other colourful sights and smells of the theme park, aptly named _Destinyland_.

He asked her, "what would you like to do first?"

"I'm not sure," Ann confessed. She added, fearing that her indecisiveness had irritated him, "usually, it is the client's decision..."

Joker dealt her a sideways glance and she reddened, remembering what the man said he wanted from her last time they had met.

Thankfully, he did not comment, letting the implication simmer with his silence.

He glanced around them at the other patrons clutching their winnings from games and snacking on ice cream and cotton candy.

He checked his watch – a Rolex, or something similar – registering that it was near enough lunchtime.

"Shall we get some food?"

At first, Ann believed that she couldn't possibly eat in his presence, but was quickly convinced otherwise when she spotted a stall that made fresh crepes available with all kinds of sweet and savoury toppings.

She chose one with milk chocolate and raspberry filling and was lucky enough to find a vacant picnic table to sit at whilst Joker paid and brought over their food.

"Thank you," she said with a genuine smile, "I love crepes!"

Again, he ate with her in relative silence, Ann filling any lengthy gaps in conversation with inconsequential chatter about the origin of crepes.

He didn't talk much.

She noticed this today and the night they had met and assumed that was the case around most people he didn't know: his answers evasive even when she asked him the most simple questions about himself.

He was, however, a remarkably attentive date, Ann had to give him credit for that.

He paid for her to play games and bought her more food when she caught sight of some more sweet things that she wanted to try. He even had a go at winning her a prize in a game that involved throwing darts at a board in a specific sequence, but they didn't have much luck in that endeavour between them.

"Do you want to go on a ride?" he then asked, as they passed by the queue for a particularly horrifying looking rollercoaster that involved being spun whilst upside down for the entire experience.

"I am still a bit too full to stomach anything going faster than the average walking pace," Ann cringed.

She looked around for tamer alternatives, the most obvious being the main attraction of the park.

"How about the Ferris wheel?"

The line was not as long in comparison to the other, more hardcore rides, the general demographic being families with small children and obliviously loved up couples.

After a short wait, Joker helped her into the car and took a seat opposite hers. The conductor closed the door behind him, blocking out the sounds of the amusement park with it.

The wheel began its first rotation, rising above the park and its spectacular views, but Ann could not bring herself to relax and appreciate the sunset illuminating the clouds, akin to the cotton candy sold in the park below.

It was the tension in the atmosphere in the car was so thick that she could taste it, but refused to be intimidated.

Admittedly, she had not thought this through: fidgeting under his stare and concentrating hard on everything else but the nagging voice inside of her head that reminded her that she was trapped on this ride with a criminal mastermind for the next twenty minutes or so.

"You've hardly said a word," Joker spoke up first. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping me entertained?"

He was sat, arms folded across his broad chest.

The self-assurance in his voice, his posture, in any other situation would have indicated that he was unimpressed with her once again but for some reason, Ann could tell that he did not mean it in a malicious way.

He seemed concerned, maybe even apprehensive – if that were even possible, for a man like him.

"Joker-san," she decided to straight to the point. "If you don't mind me asking. Why did you call for me again after...what happened last time?"

She avoided going into details, should she anger him again with the memory.

Joker appeared surprised by her question, as if he did not expect her to be so bold.

He ran a lean hand through his hair, the action making him look more boyishly handsome than ever.

"I regret the way I acted towards you the other night," he admitted. "It was inappropriate and I deserved what you did after I antagonised you so. Please don't think it is a habit of mine to speak to women in that way. I was irritated with Fox and Skull that evening and took it out on you – so for that, I am sorry."

As he spoke, Ann was taken aback by the deep timbre of his voice, so heart-wrenchingly apologetic that she did not have a doubt in her mind that he was being genuine.

After the revelation had settled in, a wave of relief passed through her, and it was only then when Ann realised how rigid her posture had been.

Prior to their meeting that day, she had tortured herself for hours on end thinking over the numerous reasons as to why he wanted to see her again – one reason actually involving torture – whilst the other related to his more bestial interests in her.

So an apology was an unexpected but welcome surprise coming from the man he was supposed to be. And though she tried to help it, she began to see him in a different light.

_Maybe he is human after all._

Joker continued, her delayed reaction prompting him to explain:

"When I spoke to Kawakami afterwards, she said that you were new to the agency and didn't have any regular clients at the moment. So I wanted to take you out again to make it up to you. To ensure your impression of me is better than the last."

He completed his statement with a small, sheepish grin that made her heart swell up inside her chest.

"Oh, well. Thank you, Joker-san," she managed. "I accept your apology."

With her forgiveness, Ann could see the tension leave his shoulders almost immediately. It was like a weight had been lifted off of them, and she was happy to see that side of him that seemed to care, on one level or another.

She observed his now untroubled silence with a smile, head tilting to the side.

"Have you made up with them, too?" she mustered the courage to ask.

Joker blinked at her.

"With who?"

"Fox-san and Skull-san."

He looked amused by her concern.

"You could say that. We have always worked well as business partners but, as one would expect, we sometimes clash on certain priorities..."

Ann rose her eyebrows at him in question, so he went to elaborate:

"...I don't like wasting money. I didn't have a lot of it growing up. No offence, but I don't think that it is necessary to pay to hire pretty girls like yourself to make an evening more enjoyable, let alone have them present at our business meetings too."

Ann nodded, unable to comment further as, secretly, she held similar sentiments.

But more so for the fact that the man had just called her "pretty" and that made her stomach do little backflips of exhilaration.

"Then why do they do it?" she asked, to detract from her own childish thoughts, and Joker breathed a heavy sigh.

"You've probably noticed how eccentric my good friend Fox is. He is constantly concerned about his aesthetics and being in the presence of what he perceives as beauty..."

He paused, pinching at the bridge of his nose under his glasses, as if just thinking about his friend and his heretic ways was giving him a headache.

"...It's a wonder why I made him the company's treasurer," he murmured, almost to himself. "He's so bad with money. And it doesn't help that Skull enables this behaviour."

Ann couldn't help a laugh escape from her lips.

Joker glanced up at the noise, surprised but seemingly pleased that he had managed to make her laugh for the first time that day.

"How so?" she pressed, and the man shrugged his shoulders as if to indicate that he did not truly understand the answer himself.

"Skull has this notion that women keep business meetings civil. They act as a distraction, preventing our partners from registering exactly what it is they're getting into."

Immediately, Ann thought of Yoshida Toranosuke and the man she had met called Iwai.

She had been dismissed with Shiho and Mika during that portion of the conversation, so their names were of little use to the agency when she had no information of what connection they had with the Phantom Thieves.

Ann waited, giving him a chance to explain himself before daring to ask:

"What...are they getting into, exactly?"

And just like that, she watched him put up a wall between them and her chest spasmed.

His lips pulled into a straight, taut line and the strength of his gaze on her intensified tenfold, eyes narrowing and thinking over the intention of her question carefully, indicating that she had crossed some sort of line.

Shit.

Was he starting to suspect her now?

Or had he already guessed that she was a spy and she had just solidified that fact?

Ann surreptitiously glanced out of the window of their car to find that they were still soaring above the fairground below.

There was no use trying to run away on this occasion.

Then, unexpectedly, and after what felt like a decade of silence, Joker smiled.

"I wouldn't worry your pretty head about it," he teased, playing on Ann's earlier embarrassment and causing her to forget all of her worries and blush like a schoolgirl in the presence of her crush.

Their ride came to a halt before she had a chance to register it. They had finally returned to land.

The conductor slid the door open and Joker helped her out of the car, taking her hand with the same delicacy as he had the evening at the bar.

He held onto it as he walked her out of the park. Ann checked her watch on the other, unable to believe that the time had passed so quickly.

"Thank you for today," she said, and she meant it. "I haven't been to an amusement park in a long time."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Joker shrugged. "It wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but the...event I planned on taking you to has been rescheduled."

"Kawakami-san did mention you tried to cancel last minute," Ann teased, to which Joker replied in good humour:

"Yes. I wasn't aware that you came with a cancellation policy. My fault for letting Fox read the fine print."

Punctually, one of Manor Arcana's drivers pulled up in front of the amusement park gates and Joker paused on his way to open the passenger door for her.

"What is your name?" he asked, out of the blue.

Ann's face fell before she could help it.

"I know that 'Carmen' isn't your real one," he supplemented quickly and she hesitated, from anxiety or excitement, it was difficult to tell.

Because the last thing Ann wanted was the villainous leader of the Phantom Thieves knowing who she really was. Yet, the other, more reckless part of her questioned why he wanted to know if he did not, on some level, come to like her? Wanted to know more about her as a person as much as she did him?

"Neither is 'Joker' yours," she stalled, so he offered an outstretched hand to hers instead.

"Akira," he said, his voice rich and so subliminally seductive that Ann almost spilt her entire soul to him.

She took his hand, feeling his confidence seeping into her skin.

"It's Ann."

Satisfied, Akira finally opened the car door for her.

"It's been a pleasure, Ann," he said, in a way that was like he was testing how her name rolled over his tongue.

Ann ducked into the car and swung her legs into the passenger seat, somewhat reluctant to leave after such an intimate moment between them.

She hated that their time together was ending so soon, after all the progress she had made. She was sure she could get even more information out of him if she were allowed to stay.

So she asked, even at the risk of sounding desperate, whether she would see him again.

Akira looked to the horizon in thought, then returned to devour her form with his eyes.

Even as he stared at her with unconcealed hunger, he was conflicted.

But it was as if he couldn't figure out why.

"I'll be in touch with Kawakami if I need you," came his final answer, rather cold and unexpected that Ann could not bring herself to react in time before he closed the car door on her face.

She watched him make his way back towards the park as the car pulled away from the pavement, the tip of her nose pressed against the glass until she could no longer determine his profile amongst the hundreds of other pedestrians.

Astonished, Ann sat back into her seat.

She should not take it personally.

She repeated that to herself like a mantra.

This was her job, and she had her objectives. He paid for her time and that meant she would turn up and disappear whenever he pleased.

But it still hurt, that after the wonderful afternoon they had spent together, Joker still thought of her as something that he could buy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to post this chapter a little early because I am now travelling for work this weekend (sigh). As always, I am so thankful for the kudos and comments. I'll try and update more regularly in the new year. In the meanwhile, stay tuned for the next chapter to be released on Christmas day!


	5. Til Death Do We Part

"I knew he would like you!"

Kawakami was beaming at her from across her desk.

She appeared triumphant, patting herself on the back and acting as if she had gone out and handpicked Ann for Joker herself.

In truth, Ann was just as surprised as she was.

"You must have made quite an impression," Kawakami continued, narrowing of her eyes and unsure about that revelation. "Fox has told me many times before that Joker doesn't take to my girls as one would have thought..."

It had been almost a month since their encounter at the amusement park.

With no word from him or any of the Phantom Thieves, Makoto was on the verge of giving up on the mission altogether – until Kawakami called her out of the blue to her office to inform her that Joker had asked for her company once again.

The 'event' he had originally planned on taking her to had been rescheduled, and he still needed a date. As it turned out, the special occasion was a wedding, which made sense to Ann following the business-meeting-slash-bachelor-party she had ruined on the first night.

Kawakami explained, "I don't have many details for you at this point in time, besides the fact that it is one of the Joker's close friends who will be tying the knot. He has paid upfront for four hours for you to be his plus-one at the reception dinner and party. And he will be sending his own car to collect you on the day..."

She disclosed the general location of the event, the prestigious guest list and strict dress code, making it clear that the job was a big enough deal to be briefing Ann on it herself.

"...I assume you will be on your best behaviour on the day, Takamaki-san," she completed with a cautionary tone (though Ann could tell that the incident at Marukyu Striptease still somewhat amused her).

"Kawakami-san, I have...something to confess," Ann spoke up, sensing that she was about to be dismissed.

The older woman looked from her computer screen, the concern in her eyes indicating for her to continue.

Ann's slender throat flashed.

"I might have...told him my name—my real one," she added. "At the amusement park…"

There was a slight delay to gather her thoughts before Kawakami expelled a short laugh and Ann released a pent up breath.

She had expected a more heated reaction.

"He asked you for it?" Kawakami asked and when Ann nodded her head, she rolled her eyes as if she already knew the answer. "It's not your fault, Takamaki-san. Joker likes to know who he is working with, and I know he can be very—persuasive. I am sure he would not have asked for you again if you had denied him of that information."

Still, Ann bowed her head in apology before taking her leave.

She made it halfway to the door before Kawakami called for her one last time.

"Takamaki-san?"

"Yes?"

She faltered, struggling to find the right words to say.

"I'd—just be careful around him," she advised. "Around all men like him. Alright?"

Ann stepped out into the street and walked a couple of blocks before hailing a taxi back to the agency's headquarters. Fingers shaking, she messaged Makoto with all the details Kawakami told her before her jittering nerves forgot them.

By the time she arrived at their offices, her superior had already set up a large case board in one of the meeting rooms, complete with photographs of the Phantom Thieves connected to the evidence with pieces of red string.

Ann observed as she worked, quietly impressed.

"This has to be it," Makoto slammed her first onto the table triumphantly. "There aren't any other five-star hotels in that area. And they're fully booked on those dates."

Ann turned her attention to Makoto's laptop screen, displaying a gorgeous manor that had been converted into a luxury hotel just outside of Akasaka.

It had long, stretching grounds and reception rooms with impossibly high ceilings and, being in close proximity to a nearby temple, fit the description and location of the kind of wedding venue Kawakami had described.

They called to enquire on bookings for the following weekend but were given very little when it came to the finer details. In the end, Makoto sent ahead a handful of agents to watch the property, observing their preparations in the lead up to the big day.

"There's definitely something happening, alright," they reported back. "But I'm telling you now, if it's the Phantom Thieves—they are _not_ fucking around."

"Strict guest list, security detail, metal detectors and full-body pat-downs at every entrance."

"It's going to be impossible to put a wire on Takamaki-san – again," another said, as if the girl wasn't far enough on the edge already.

"Were you able to confirm if there is a wedding happening there this weekend at least?" Makoto pressed, and the agents shook their heads.

"All the reservations are under an events planning company called Velvet Rooms," they said. "Even the hotel manager has no idea who the lucky couple are."

Reaching a dead end on the venue, Makoto turned her attention to Ann: quizzing the girl on what she might have heard the other night in regards to the upcoming nuptials.

The groom had to be one of the men she met at Marukyu Striptease, they deduced. Though, if Ann were being completely honest, none of them were acting as if they were already taken that evening.

"Well, at least we can rule Joker out as the potential groom," Makoto mused out aloud. "Otherwise he wouldn't have invited you..."

Kamoshida, who had come to 'oversee' the prep for the assignment, sneered at Makoto and their efforts.

He turned to his other male colleagues, jerking a thumb at Ann in a boorish manner and spoke, in a stage whisper to the entire office:

"I guess not even Joker can resist a tight ass and a nice pair of tits!"

Over the course of the week, Ann continued in her training, challenging her both physically and mentally with the derisive comments from Kamoshida and the rest of his team spurring her on.

She studied all they know of the Phantom Thieves well into the evenings and spent the early hours of the morning's improving on her fitness and combat training at the agency's onsite gym.

During the day, she worked tirelessly with Makoto to piece together as much information as possible before the big day.

They did not want her to go in completely blind like she did at Maruyuku Striptease but come Friday evening, neither of them still had any idea who in the Phantom Thieves or their affiliates was having such an extravagant affair for a wedding.

"Well, Minister Yoshida has been married for almost thirty years, so it can't be him," Makoto mused, skimming his Wikipedia page. "Maybe it was the younger boy or the weapons dealer. Or, given the money being spent for the day, it could even be one of the original members..."

"You mean—Skull or Fox?" Ann blinked.

For one reason or another, she nor Makoto could picture any the Phantom Thieves participating in something as normal and every day as marriage.

To Ann, in particular, Joker, Skull and Fox were unlike other people she had met before in her entire life.

Everything she had learnt and experienced said that they were as cold and calculated as one would expect – none of them able to even consider the prospect of falling in love with all the risk and vulnerability that came with it.

Unwittingly, Ann thought of Joker, of the Ferris wheel and the way his undivided attention could make a nun blush.

Women were probably falling over each other after him and he knew it, used it to his advantage when it suited him.

But he did not seem the type to let anyone in closer than an arm's length, not enough to steal his heart.

Which was – perhaps foolishly – exactly what she was supposed to do.

* * *

He did not intend on seeing her again.

But as busy as he was these days, every time Akira let his mind wander – even for the briefest second – he would find her there, ebbing away at his subconscious.

He tried to block her out at first by burying himself in work and wedding preparations and reminding himself that he had done his part: he had done what he had sought out to do and apologised. So he had no reason to have to think about her anymore, right?

But for weeks on end, Haru bugged him for the name of his date, guilt-tripping him by saying things like: "but I've already ordered her a plate at dinner!" as if neither of them could afford the wasted meal.

So, it was Haru's fault – at least, that was what he told himself – when he, eventually and inevitably, caved.

The weekend of the wedding arrived sooner than they all had expected, with the morning ceremony at the temple to start things off.

It was beautiful. Haru cried, Ryuji cried, even old man Sojiro shed a silent tear.

It was everything the couple had wanted it to be: a small, intimate affair with only their closest friends and family present before the big show that was their wedding reception – a compromise with the late Okumura Kunikazu who had wanted his daughter to make a show of her nuptials.

Ann arrived at the reception venue long before the wedding party did, but no one would have guessed it so because the halls were already full with drinks and canapés circulating the crowds.

The hotel was just as gorgeous as it was in the photos, perhaps even more impressive in person. But before Ann had even made it within a mile radius of the property, her car was stopped and searched at the imposing iron gates by armed men with sniffer dogs and mirrors on the end of poles to check for any detonator devices taped to the underside.

At the entrance hall, Ann was greeted with a line of guests undergoing further scrutiny similar to that of airport security. She was asked to remove her shoes to walk through a metal detector gate, whilst her bag was scanned and its contents searched.

Even her mobile phone was taken from her, dismantled and put in a safe for her collection at the end of the evening.

Makoto's agents were right, she thought.

The Phantom Thieves were not fucking around.

Once inside the reception hall, Ann took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter to calm herself after the nerve-wracking ordeal.

It seemed as if the other guests were already well acquainted, standing in closed circles that did not invite the presence of outsiders.

They dealt her glances out of the corners of their eyes: not in an entirely unfriendly way but one of curiosity or – Ann gulped – maybe even suspicion. After all, she was an unknown face in a room full of powerful figures connected to the world of organised crime.

Thankfully, an older looking couple took mercy on her and approached, arm in arm and absolutely adorable. They smiled in a welcoming way and called her 'child,' and asked how she knew the bride and groom.

"I am a guest of the groom's side," she answered, figuring that it wasn't a complete lie.

Acting as the dutiful best man, Akira arrived at the party early, to make sure that everything was in order before the newlyweds were to make their grand entrance.

On his way to the kitchens, however, he was collared by a group of self-important, talkative guests trying to get his opinion about some investments they had made together when he was more interested in checking on the catering.

There were other men in nearby circles trying to make eye contact with him as well, but he stared determinedly at his captors, trying to end the conversation as soon as possible.

Akira could talk business for days, but there was a time and a place and today was his best friend's wedding.

Eventually, the guests who had been eyeing him approached to greet the group. Occupied with the ovation of air-kisses and shaking hands, Akira took the opportunity to say: "I see that my date has arrived. Excuse me for a moment," before covertly taking his leave.

It wasn't a lie, because long before the conversation had ended, his attention caught on a head of familiar blonde hair within the crowd, even though he wasn't looking for her.

She was easy to spot because she was easily the most beautiful woman in the venue, attracting the reserved attention of the other guests as well – all of them curious to find out who she was and who would lay their claim on her.

As he approached, Ann turned her head to take a raspberry macaron from a passing waiter, profile and her smile coming into his view.

Something from behind his navel tugged at him tight, but he determinedly ignored it.

"Ann," he said when in earshot. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

The girl jumped when he lay a hand on the small of her back, almost dropping her snack.

Her eyes were wide when she spun her head to look at him and – was that fear he could see behind them? The instance was gone too quickly for him to confirm it, replaced by a rosy hue spreading prettily across her cheeks.

Akira smiled at her despite the brief conjecture.

He never did care much for the attention he received from the opposite sex, but he very much enjoyed the effect he seemed to be having on her.

Relocating her ability to speak, Ann opened her mouth to greet him but the older couple she had been talking to were already gushing:

"Oh, my child!" the woman said. "You didn't tell me that you were _Akira-kun's_ date!"

Ann was dumbstruck again, whatever she was going to say dying in her throat that Akira had to rescue the both of them.

He wound an arm around her waist and hauled her to his side.

"I see that you have already met the groom's parents." Akira greeted the couple warmly, "Mr and Mrs Sakamoto. I hope you enjoyed the ceremony this morning."

Ann schooled her expression to a neutral before Joker could notice the change in her demeanour.

It was _Skull_ who was getting married?

Who would have thought!

"Of course," the elderly man enthused. "I have never cried so much in my entire life!"

His wife was already dabbing at the corners of her eyes at the memory.

"It was beautiful. Thank you so much for your contributions..."

Regardless of the week's worth of intense research and training, Ann was left unprepared for the attention she received as the woman on Joker's arm.

People revered over him as if he were not a wanted criminal, their treatment of the man similar to that of a prominent politician or even a member of a royal family.

And despite carrying out his duties as best man and entertaining patrons who wished to speak to him, Akira was as considerate a date as he was at the amusement park: ensuring that she made known to the other guests as his date and just like that – the cautious looks she had received before became welcoming ones.

Everyone seemed to trust this man implicitly and in turn, that trust extended to her, and she could not believe her luck when she was introduced to what she assumed were Joker's nearest and dearest.

Besides Kitagawa Yusuke, who greeted her with the same warmth and extravagance as he had done at Marukyu Striptease, Ann was introduced to Sakura Futaba – "my sister," said Akira, "in the broader sense of the word" – and their uncle, Sakura Sojiro.

She had seen no record of family members under Joker's file, so she guessed this was news to her as well as the agency's.

There were a lot of names and faces to remember in such a short span of time, that Ann was grateful for the brief respite when the newly married couple were announced to have arrived.

One of the hosts stood on the small stage where the band had been set up and announced into the microphone:

"Ladies and gentlemen. May I present, the new Mr and Mrs Sakamoto!"

On the other side of a curtained wall, appeared Sakamoto Ryuji and on his arm, the most picture-perfect bride Ann had ever seen.

Their entrance was greeted with a chorus of applause and trumpeting music. Hand in hand, Ryuji lead his bride down a short flight of steps, appearing to almost float down them in her floor-length gown.

She glittered, literally, when the spotlights caught on the diamonds stitched to her bodice and tiara fixed to her bridal chignon, not a single hair out of place.

Ann wasn't ashamed to admit that she was a romantic. There was nothing wrong with wishing for that one person to share the rest of your life with, in her eyes.

And though she could probably never afford a celebration quite this grand in her lifetime, Ann had dreamt about wearing the white dress and saying yes to the sappy proposal. Watching the loved up couple descend the crowds to receive their congratulations filled her both with awe and envy.

Unbeknownst to her, Akira was observing her star-struck reaction. She caught his gaze and he cocked a brow.

"Sorry. She just looks so beautiful!" Ann expressed, to which he replied, without taking his eyes off of her:

"Yes. She does."

He gave her barely any time to recover before taking her arm in his.

"Here. Let me introduce you."

He guided her through the crowd that parted for him seamlessly, and they were received by the bride and groom with open arms.

"Ann, this is Okumura Haru," Akira said with a dazzling smile. He added, after a beat, "well, I guess it's Sakamoto now."

"Okumura…-san?"

Ann could barely conceal her astonishment.

No one, not even Makoto and her excellent deductive skills would have guessed that a member of the Phantom Thieves was to be married to the only daughter and heiress of Okumura Foods.

Her father's death, still widely believed to be at that hands of the Phantom Thieves, was just over a month ago now and the news stations covering the story were only just dying down.

Ann wondered what kind of relationship they had and how – in the midst of blackmail, violence and extortion of her father – did it blossom?

How much did she even know about her husband and the Phantom Thieves?

Because unlike her Okumura Kunikazu, Haru was soft-spoken, friendly and very beautiful. She took after her mother, Ann would later find out, a minor actress who died when Haru was only four years old and her late father had not remarried since.

The bride hugged Ann warmly as if they were already the best of friends.

"It's lovely to finally meet you!"

She pulled away and looked between her and Akira, a wide smile splitting her doll-like face.

"You must really be special, Ann-chan," she said. "Akira-kun has never introduced me to his girlfriends before."

Ann looked to Akira for guidance, but the man was as stumped as she was.

"Oh, we're not actually–"

"–Ann," Akira recovered quickly. "Shall I show you where we will be sitting for dinner?"

She was swept away before Haru could utter a protest, his hand on her hip veering her through the crowd towards the dining room, where a few of the guests were already seated.

Once alone, he leant in close and whispered lowly:

"I would appreciate if you play a convincing role as my girlfriend, just in front of Haru..."

He looked mischievous, boyish even, enough to pull just about anyone's heartstrings when he grinned:

"...It's not a huge deal, but Ryuji would actually kill me if he finds out that I told her that we hire girls from Kawakami."

Now that the newly wedded couple had arrived, the festivities went underway smoothly, much to Akira's relief. The six-course tasting menu was – as expected – to die for, and the toasts delivered to honour the bride and groom were both heartfelt and hilarious.

Akira had stood in front of what must have been over two hundred people and delivered his best man's speech with the confidence of a seasoned businessman.

He was as handsome as ever in his classic tuxedo suit, but also an engaging and brilliant speaker that by the end of his address, was rewarded with a standing ovation. Ryuji had tackled him with a hug and Haru was on the verge of spoiling her perfect makeup with her tears.

Ann knew she wasn't the only one enamoured with him by the end of his toast when several people – women, in particular – flocked towards him as he crossed the dance floor and back towards their table.

There was one woman who he chose to speak to at length, the familiarity between them obvious by how the other girls slinked away after she lay her claim on him.

From what Ann could see, she was very beautiful, with glossy raven hair that fell straight and long to the middle of her back and was fastened away from her face with a red, ornamental hairpin.

She followed after him when he finally made his way back to her, approaching their table like a couple of runway models.

"Ann, this is Togo Hifumi," Akira introduced. "She is a close friend of mine and Yusuke's."

Ann exchanged pleasantries whilst she tried to figure out why the woman's name and face were so familiar to her.

Eventually, she arrived at the recollection that Togo Hifumi was a famous shōgi player, the one that magazines and tv interviews dubbed to be 'the beauty and the brains' of the sport.

Ann was blathering on about how she had once seen her on the front cover of one of her favourite magazines when the woman's red lips stretched into a tight smile, one that didn't quite reach her dark, green eyes.

"Thank you Ann-san. Always a pleasure to meet a fan," Hifumi spoke, in a way that was rather dismissive to her compliments.

She lay a perfectly manicured hand on Akira's elbow, tilting her head in the space next to his.

"May I borrow your date for a dance?"

Ann did not protest, insisting that she needn't ask, but as she watched them retreat, arm in arm, it dawned on her that a man like Joker was not short of beautiful and talented women at his disposal, least of all the famous Togo Hifumi.

Sakura Sojiro had boasted about Futaba's technical genius, and Haru – though already taken – was just a year older than Ann but already the largest stockholder of Okumura Foods.

Makoto had encouraged playing on his interest her, but how could she keep that up, she thought?

In some way or another, these women were not only beautiful but they were undoubtedly useful to him and his enterprise. What did she bring to the table, exactly?

This was the sort of thing that she was not supposed to be thinking about – because, why the hell should it matter? – but it was difficult not to ruminate over the particulars as she watched Akira and Hifumi glide effortlessly across the ballroom floor like a modern-day Fred Astair and Ginger Rogers.

Their song was interrupted by a clatter of plates and cutlery coming from the kitchens. The short disturbance was glossed over when Akira asked the band to play on.

He veered his partner to the outskirts of the dance floor where a host-waiter approached, discreetly passing close enough to whisper something into his ear:

"Sir," he said. "There is a...problem with one of the catering staff."

The couple exchanged a glance and left to investigate almost immediately, that was, before Akira's eyes snapped back to Ann and their table like something of an afterthought.

Urging Hifumi to go on ahead, he walked back to her with a certain hastiness to his pace, unlike the measured stride that she was used to seeing on him.

"Ann. I need to...tend to something in the kitchens," he had the courtesy to explain. "Will you be ok on your own for a while?"

She wanted to say that he had left her on her own for the past half hour but smiled through his concerns instead.

"Ok," he still appeared apprehensive. "I won't be long. Mishima!"

The sudden surge of volume in his voice startled her, but not as much as it had the younger boy that came running to his side.

"Y–Yes, Leader?"

"You remember Ann, right?"

Mishima blinked at her as if he were being tested with a trick question.

"I thought her name was–"

"–Would you mind keeping her company whilst I step away for a moment?"

The younger boy stood to Joker's attention like a well-trained soldier, the influence he had over his people never failing to astound her.

He was being asked to keep an eye on her, Ann was sure of it, and when Mishima asked if she would like to dance in front of Joker, it felt rude for her to decline.

"I won't be long," Akira assured before he left, but not before Ann noticed that he was walking in a completely different direction from that of the kitchens.

* * *

Thankfully, the song ended soon after Akira had disappeared, giving Ann the opportunity to make an excuse about needing to use the bathroom.

Following down the corridors of where he had headed, she slipped past the roped off area that was closed to guests without being detected.

As the entire hotel had been hired out for their privacy, the function rooms that were left unused were like ghost towns, empty with furniture covered in white dust cloths and unattended by security or staff.

Ann continued making her way deeper into the estate without seeing another soul, thinking that she had lost them until she heard a guttural cry from one of the dining rooms at the end of the corridor.

It was much smaller than the room they had hired for their party and had circular tables that were bare and their chairs stowed on top of them, bar one which had been placed in the middle of the room to seat a man who looked as if he were inches away from death, even from where Ann was standing.

He was dressed in one of the waiters outfits, though his tie had been removed and used to bind his hands behind his back and to fasten him to the chair.

By the time Ann had arrived, his face had already been beaten to a pulp: lips split and his eyes bruised and swollen that he was barely able to hold them open.

She took cover from behind the large doorway, just in time to see Ryuji deliver another blow to his jaw with enough force to topple him over in his seat.

The way his bones cracked upon his impact with the marble flooring made the acid in her stomach curdle.

"What the _fuck_ did you just call her?!"

Still tied to the chair and unable to move, the man looked as if he would struggle to breathe let alone speak through the blood and spit foaming at his mouth.

Yet, he still had the audacity to bare a bloody smile:

"How thick is that skull of yours, Sakamoto? I called your pretty princess wife a _fucking_ whore!"

The insult alone deserved another winding kick to the stomach.

He wobbled in his seat like a rag doll when Kitagawa Yusuke dragged it upright once more as if to finish off the job. They buried their firsts into their victim as many times as it took until everyone, including Ann, could hear several of his ribs break.

A cough jolted through him, sending blood splattering over himself and as far as the leather on the groom's new shoes.

Ryuji's lips curled away from his teeth in disgust.

"The nerve of this guy – waltzing into my wedding and trying to cause a scene..."

He hit him again, his nose or something painful breaking in his skull and Ann clamped a hand over her mouth to silence a scream.

She averted her eyes to the far corner of the room to where Haru was, head in her hands and being consoled by Futaba, whilst Togo Hifumi stood by with her arms folded under her chest, keeping guard.

By the time the boys were finished with him, the man was limp in his chair and practically a corpse.

Ryuji clicked his tongue against his teeth at the grisly sight.

"I knew we should have killed him when we had the chance."

"Yes. An oversight on my part," Hifumi spoke, reverently. "My apologies."

Yusuke flexed his blood-covered knuckles, shaking his head.

"There was no point. He isn't a dangerous man, Skull. Just an annoying one."

The boys grabbed up their dinner jackets, appearing as if they were going to leave the victim to bleed out until – with what appeared to be the last of his energy – he expelled the most deranged laugh Ann had ever heard in her entire life.

His lungs must have hurt from the effort because his cackles were marred with gasps and coughs of phlegm and blood rising from his lungs. But he continued in his hysterics, as if his mind had become unhinged from the torturous pain they had inflicted upon him.

His face, or what was left of it, stretched into a sadistic smile.

"Is this what you left me for, Haru?!" he taunted her with savage derision. "A fucking thug?! I knew you liked it rough, baby, but this is another level!"

Collectively, the group looked to Joker who had been quietly observing the scene the entire time.

Ann watched him close his eyes and set his jaw as he thought through his subsequent actions.

He held an almost disturbing attitude of fluid relaxation, remaining calm and composed as he approached the beaten man with a lethal stillness to his tall, lean body.

Just watching him ascend on his victim like a predator shadowing his prey was enough to shift Ann's heartbeat to the region of her throat.

When close enough, Akira tore at the hair on the back of his head and forced the man to look upon his cold and ruthless gaze.

"Have some humility, Sugimura," he stated, simply. "You're only alive because I've allowed it."

And there he was. The man he was supposed to be.

Joker in the flesh and as real to her as the handsome, attentive gentleman he had been at the amusement park and in the ballroom just down the hall – the revelation still devastating to her even though Ann knew full well of what he was capable of.

It was chilling, that he did not have to use force or violence like Fox and a Skull did to instill fear like that: a fear that could be felt by everyone in the room.

She could see it, feel it in the air and hear his murderous intent in the deep tenor of his voice.

Ann was unsure exactly of what she was about to witness, but she had enough of an idea that warned her against sticking around to find out.

That was, until she heard Haru's soft voice speak up to say:

"May I, Leader?"

The beautiful bride stepped forward, shoulders squared and confident as if she had done whatever she was about to do a million times before.

Akira looked between the beaten man and the firearm in his hand before offering it to her.

He instructed, with cutting indifference:

"Don't dirty your dress."

Then, Ann watched, as the sweet, gentle Haru she had met earlier today, aimed the barrel of the gun at the man a mere three feet away without a hint of hesitation in her eyes.

Her hardened face did not falter, even as he begged for his life; even when the deafening sound that followed her pulling the trigger echoed through the entire room as she fired a bullet straight between his brows, and out of the back of his head.

* * *

Ann's first instinct was to run, but her body was disobedient.

Her ears were ringing, her mind had stuttered to a halt, and she was only able to force herself to turn away from the scene when she heard Joker sigh and instruct one of his team to: "get this cleaned up."

Anticipating that they'd be heading back to the party soon, Ann tore herself from the doorway where she had taken cover and back towards where she came, but she barely made it ten hasty steps down the corridor when a sensation like nausea came over her.

Stumbling into the nearest restroom, Ann threw herself into an empty stall and slid down the back of the door that locked behind her.

She sat for a moment, heart pounding and head spinning, before flying up again to cope with the shuddering spasms of sickness tearing at her abdomen, forcing her to empty the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl.

She could not do much about the retching, but she clamped her hand over her mouth when she was done to prevent the sobs raking at her throat and let them spill silently from her eyes instead.

Her whole body was trembling as she curled up on the grimly tiled floor and tried to make sense of what she had just seen.

Whoever he was, the man not to be as trusted by the Phantom Thieves any more than she was.

Would she have had a similar fate if she were caught? Most likely.

They killed a man for simply 'making a scene' at Ryuji's wedding. If anything, her espionage was a far greater offence.

It was clear to Ann now, if it was not before, just how merciless Joker was towards his enemies.

Ann waited until her tremours died down before she exited the cubicle. With one look at her pale face in the mirror above the sinks, she decided that she would not have to put much effort into the lie that she wasn't feeling well as a reason to leave the party early.

Rinsing the taste of acid out of her mouth in the sink, she barely noticed the cubicle next to hers swing open in time to see Togo Hifumi emerge from behind it.

Her head spun around, silvery hair flying back from her delicate cheekbones.

In close proximity, the famous shōgi player was even more the sophisticated specimen than Ann could ever hope to be.

She had a tall, willowy body that fit perfectly in her classic cheongsam dress.

She sauntered up to the sink next to hers to wash her hands, and tilted her head at Ann through the reflection of the mirror with a forged innocence.

Her voice was sickly sweet.

"Is something the matter, Ann-san?"

Ann wiped at the water dripping down her chin and shook her head, not trusting herself to produce an appropriate response.

"Really? Because you look awfully pale..."

She said this with a small frown and at her insistence, Ann swallowed down her fear, ensuring that her tone held no trace of it as she replied:

"You know, I do feel a bit queasy. I must have eaten too much at dinner. There was such a generous spread and I can be such a glutton for sweets sometimes!"

She tried to laugh it off but the most Hifumi presented her with was another one of her saccharine smiles.

She reached into her clutch bag and Ann fought off the urge to scream until she produced a tube of lipstick and not a weapon, which was – understandably – her first assumption.

Hifumi turned to her reflection to reapply the blood-red colour to her lips. She pressed them together and pouted to check the coverage, her features more striking and angled when she did so.

"You know, Ann-san," she continued, her voice deceptively conversational. "This area of the hotel is closed off to guests..."

"Ah, I was looking for Akira-kun," Ann answered, a little to quickly. "I saw him come this way and I got lost."

Hifumi snapped the lid back onto her lipstick and finally turned to face her head-on.

Her green eyes were narrowed and accusatory.

"When you followed him, did you happen to...witness anything that you shouldn't have?"

Ann's throat seized up and the split-seconds hesitation was enough to confirm her suspicions.

"Wait, I don't know what you—"

Before she could react, Hifumi had seized her by the forearm, her grip remarkably like steel even as she tried to fight her off from being dragged out of the restrooms and into the hallway after her.

"—Ann? Hifumi?"

"What's going on?"

Ann wasn't sure if she should have been relieved when she was met by the rest of the Phantom Thieves on the other side of the restroom door, but she was at least granted a brief recess from Hifumi's grasp, digging into her arm to the point of breaking skin.

She shoved Ann forward viciously, causing her to stumble in her heels.

"Leader," Hifumi addressed Akira without hesitation. "She saw. She followed us here and saw what Haru did."

Ann backed away the group's reaction, as their faces turned from concern for her to unease.

Even Haru had the audacity to look dismayed by her deception, despite the fact that she literally ended the life of a man less than ten minutes ago.

"I—I don't know what she's talking about!" Ann cried, but they continued to speak over her as if she could not hear them.

"What do you want me to do with her, Leader?"

"You know the rules."

"No witnesses."

"I suppose we could take her back to the room where Sugimura is and—"

"—_Hifumi_."

Joker spoke up before the woman could complete her sentence, but the general message had already been inferred.

Soldered to the ground with fear, Ann allowed the man to take a tentative step towards her.

Her skin crawled when he took her by the wrist, inspecting the purple crescents left from Hifumi's razor-like fingernails, with what appeared to be like an expression of remorse.

"She is my guest," he completed. "I will handle it myself."

He released her hand, and like he had drained the energy from her with a single touch, Ann's knees buckled and threatened to give way.

She closed her eyes briefly when her vision began blurring at the edges, her mind struggling to process exactly what was about to happen to her.

This was it.

She was going to die, she was sure of it – so what else was there to do at that moment, but to slip into a brief but blissful state of unconsciousness?

* * *

Ann coasted into awareness at the sensation of being carried on someone's back.

With only enough energy to crack open a single eyelid, she registered little else but a familiar head of black, curly hair.

She heard his voice call out to her again, concerned, maybe even panicked, but she could not bring herself to respond, instead burying her face into his neck and unable to process anything else beyond the fact that he smelt delightful – like expensive cologne mixed with freshly brewed coffee.

She woke again, perhaps no longer than twenty or thirty minutes later, on a large, king-sized bed in one of the hotel's executive suites.

There was some movement in the corner of her eye, drawing her attention to the french windows that opened onto a Juliet balcony overlooking the hotel's impressive grounds.

Akira was out there, talking heatedly on his phone and smoking a cigarette.

She lifted herself off of the bed with difficulty and with not enough stealth to slip away before he clocked that she was awake.

Akira ended his call abruptly and opened the window to speak to her.

"Ann," he said, beaconing her over to him. "Come. The fireworks display is about to start."

There was a moment in which Ann believed she might have dreamt the previous incidents, all like a nightmare that was soon to be forgotten until she looked down at her arm that had been neatly cleaned and bandaged whilst she had been asleep.

With obvious reluctance, she stepped out onto the balcony and ignored Akira's proffered hand to assist her down the slight step.

The evening breeze was cold and sobering against her flushed cheeks.

"Where am I?" Ann asked, still in somewhat of a daze.

"My room," he replied. "I brought you here after you fainted. Don't worry," he added, "you weren't out for long."

To her surprise, he had room service bring champagne for them, the bottle chilling on top of the stone balcony edge alongside two crystal flutes.

He handed her a sparkling glass and offered her a short toast, the performance feeling less like a cause for celebration and more like the preparation of a lamb being brought to slaughter.

Akira asked, in the midst of her silence: "Are you feeling alright? Do you need to lie down again?"

"No. I'm fine," Ann barely whispered.

Despite her reassurance, the man looked unconvinced by her answer, his gaze unwavering as he searched her face for the truth.

Beneath them, the other wedding guests began to gather at the foot of the gardens, signalling that the display was about to start, but they paid no attention to the chatter and music that accompanied the crowds.

A light gust of wind blew from the east and sent wisps of hair across the bridge of Ann's nose.

When she reached to tuck them behind her ear, she found Akira's fingers already poised to the task.

Instinctively, unintentionally, Ann jerked herself away from him.

Akira withdrew his hand and fisted it tightly at his side.

"You flinch whenever I touch you now," he said it like a statement of fact, giving her no room to try and convince him otherwise.

In spite of this, he remained calm, speaking as if they were discussing something trivial like the weather.

"I wouldn't try to deny it. Hifumi's instincts are rarely ever wrong. You saw what we did, didn't you?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Ann replied, a bit too quickly.

Akira raised a brow at her nerve.

"Are you sure? Because I don't like liars..."

Ann could say nothing to that, so she took a steadying sip of her champagne instead.

He did not press her, letting the silence simmer between them whilst he lit another cigarette, carrying the air of a parent waiting for their child to ride through an unnecessary tantrum.

"If it's any consolation," he spoke, after a while, "Sugimura was a bad man who beat and raped Haru."

Ann spun her head towards him, unable to stall her expression of horror and dismay.

"They were engaged before, but he did not love her," Akira continued, after her concern. "He just wanted her family name and everything that came with it. The sickest part was that Haru's father encouraged their relationship, even though he knew how much of a monster he was."

He completed the sentence with the same, dark expression she had witnessed in the dining room earlier.

Even his sentiments about Haru's late father were spoken with enough venom that could determine the Phantom Thieves involvement with his death, after all.

In the breath of silence that followed this revelation, the firework display began: filling the night sky with lights and colours, inspiring awe and joy in stark contrast to the bleak atmosphere between them.

Extinguishing his cigarette, Akira dug his hands into his trouser pockets, taking a moment to appreciate the show.

"It's been a beautiful day," he spoke, almost wistfully. "Haru is happy, and my best friend is married to the woman of his dreams. I'm glad I got to share it with you."

Ann, who had trained her gaze steadfastly ahead at the display, could not help but turn to check whether his face was as genuine as his words.

He did so at the same time, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he looked at her, edging close enough to reach out and skate a thumb over the curve of her cheekbone.

She did not pull away this time.

For a moment, she let herself be lost in his universe, hiding behind his dark dilated pupils and the sparkling colors reflecting in them.

"I'm sorry," he then said, his apology followed by the unmistakable feeling of the barrel of his gun pressing into her stomach, just beneath her ribs.

The sensation was as if he had punched her hard in the gut, and Ann knew she should have guessed that things would end this way.

The loud explosions of the fireworks and the distraction of the crowds was a time as good as ever to dispose of her quickly.

But of all the reactions she could have produced – to cry, scream for help, to beg for his sweet mercy – she could not think of anything else to do, but to close the space between their faces and place her lips on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas! I’ve been excited about posting this chapter for a while, so please let me know what you think in the comments. I’ve got a busy start to the year so the next instalment will be out on the 25th January. Thanks again for the support and see you in the new year!


	6. If You Play Your Cards Right

The atmosphere in the boardroom was different to that of their last meeting at the beginning of the month, the climate one of disbelief and incredulity at the news that the rookie, Takamaki Ann, had achieved what was thought to be impossible:

"Joker has asked me to come and work for him and the Phantom Thieves."

Earlier that same day, she was asked to meet Kawakami at her office, unsure of what the future held for her.

As usual, Ann sat on the opposite side of her desk whilst the woman finished off typing up an email or something similar. She had been called in on an urgent matter, but whatever Kawakami was writing seemed to be taking higher preeminence at the moment.

Eventually, she clicked her computer mouse and sent something to print. Standing to retrieve it, she gave the document one final brief look over before handing it to Ann with a pen to sign.

"Wait. You're—firing me?"

Granted, Ann was not one would consider a model 'employee', given her recent track record, but she was shocked nonetheless.

Kawakami returned to her seat and shook her head negative.

"I wouldn't put it quite like that. Firing sounds like you've done something wrong. Think of this as–" she reflected on finding the most delicate term, "–letting you go."

Ann glanced down at the notice in her hands, thinking that both statements sounded as bad as each other in a workplace setting, but took comfort in the fact that Kawakami was not entirely displeased with her and her representation of the company.

"But...why?"

The woman sat back in her seat and shrugged her slight shoulders. Ann could tell that she was not entirely on board with the situation when she replied in a clipped tone:

"Joker requested it. He paid for me to let you go. A full six months' worth of fees, in fact. Upfront."

Ann gaped at her, her stomach cartwheeling.

"But—why would he do that?"

"To release you from your contract with me," Kawakami replied – like were supposed to be obvious. "So that you can work for him exclusively instead."

In spite of the fact that this was exactly what Makoto and her agency wanted to happen – Ann's triumph was short-lived when she considered the proposition that had been laid out before her.

_Work for Joker?_ she thought. In what...capacity, exactly?

For Kawakami, she was hired arm candy – nothing more, nothing less. But Ann seriously doubted that was all he wanted from her if they were to make their arrangement exclusive: thinking back to that evening on the balcony, of how she had kissed him and just how passionately he had kissed her back.

Her quick thinking had saved her life – but now she would have to face its consequences, whatever they might be.

"Of course, it is your choice, Takamaki-san," Kawakami, sensing her unease, tried to reassure her. "He does not want you to feel obliged."

Ann nodded, to indicate that she was ruminating over the proposition.

Yes, Joker had been civil enough to give her a choice, but she doubted that there would be no consequences if she refused.

This was the alternative, she guessed, to being 'disposed of'. At least in this way, he could keep an eye on her, have her on hand should he need to finish off the task.

"What do you think I should do, Kawakami-san?" Ann asked when she could think of nothing else to say. "You've, um, told me to be careful around him before."

The woman answered her question with another, catching her patently off guard.

She reached toward a silver case on the top of her desk, flipping open the lid to reveal a neat line of Caster cigarettes.

"Do you mind?"

Confounded by the sudden change of topic, it took a few beats for Ann to react. She shook her head and watched as the woman lit a cigarette between her lips.

"I assume, after spending some time with the man, you have an idea of what his line of work entails?" she then asked, after a lengthy minute.

Ann paled.

"I have a—vague notion."

"Then you must have come across the kind of people that he tends to attract."

She could say nothing to that so the woman took another long drag, tapping the gathering ash into a tray that was parked next to her keyboard – one that probably needed to be emptied soon, Ann thought, in the midst of everything.

"I am not worried about Joker, Takamaki-san. He is a close friend of mine and I would never send a girl to a client who I didn't trust. But it's his lifestyle, the enemies he makes along the way—that is what worries me."

She stubbed out her cigarette in the graveyard of others, glancing at Ann and her silence in a curious way.

"He was not always like this, you know," she added, to lighten the atmosphere somewhat. "He was my student. Back when I was a teaching assistant at his high school."

Ann tried to hide her surprise but failed.

"Is that how you...came to know each other?" she managed, and Kawakami smiled and shook her head.

"That's what we tell people, I guess," she said. "He transferred from a different school in the middle of eleventh grade with a chip on his shoulder and no intention of doing any work or making any friends. Needless to say, I kept out of his hair—that was before I ran into him walking home late one evening from my second job as a pay-per-hour adult maid service."

Ann could only imagine her mortification, yet the woman laughed to herself as if it were something of a private joke, a memory that she treasured.

"I remember the humiliation well," she smiled. "I was ready to empty my purse and give him everything I had just to keep his mouth shut, but all he wanted to do was to walk me home. And he did so, after every shift I had until I paid off all my debts."

She completed her story with a tender expression and her voice noticeably softer when she spoke of him.

It was obvious to her now, that Kawakami possessed an underlying fondness for the wanted man. But to what extent? Ann could not tell.

It was certainly more than the teacher-student relationship she had described, given how she remained loyal to him despite being aware of his true identity after all this time.

Joker had that way with people, it seemed. He showed kindness to those who needed it and expected nothing in return but their integrity.

Kawakami shook her head as if coming out of a trance.

"What I'm saying is, Takamaki-san. As irritating as he can be sometimes, I can vouch for Joker. He is a good guy," she added. "At the very core."

As she left, Ann thanked her for the opportunity to work with her, and for her advice.

Even though she was certain that Makoto would want her to accept the job regardless, she was grateful for her reassurance that she was not wrong about the gentler side of Joker of which she had seen but a glimpse.

It was a strange way to say it though – that he was good at his 'core'.

Did he not have a heart?

* * *

It was nearing midnight, but it felt as if she had already slept a full eight hours or more.

At the sound of his voice, Hifumi stretched and straightened up against the headboard, her pale limbs swimming in silk of her bedsheets.

Akira was stood by the bedroom window with his back to her, speaking quietly on the phone for her benefit.

He was already half-dressed, in his slacks and without his shirt, but that was to be expected.

Joker didn't like to mix business with pleasure and apparently, staying the night was a step too far in the wrong direction.

"Who was that?" she asked after he said his goodbyes.

"Ryuji," Akira replied offhandedly. "Expressing some of his concerns about our new recruit..."

He was frowning down at his phone screen, the blue light illuminating his handsome features, but Hifumi couldn't help but smile.

She had spoken to Skull herself, earlier that day.

Nothing too overt but enough to plant a seed of doubt that had quickly come into fruition.

It was easy enough, given that everyone except for Joker himself knew that keeping that girl alive was a bad idea, but none of them had the balls to say it to him. But if anyone could make Kusuru Akira see sense, it would be his best friend – or so she thought.

She asked after him, innocently: "and what did you have to say to that?"

"I told him to stop calling me and enjoy his honeymoon."

Akira pocketed his device and shrugged on his shirt, the breadth of his shoulders filling the fine cloth as he straightened it over his chest.

When he turned back to her, fixing his collar, Hifumi returned his gaze with a reproachful look.

"I already had Futaba look into her," he said, as if that were sufficient on its own. "She is who she says she is."

"Even so," she huffed. "She saw what we did."

"And she promised me she wouldn't tell a soul."

"If you think that then you must be out of your mind."

Hifumi watched in disbelief as the man reached for his jacket – a silent indication of his dismissal on the topic.

Akira recruited her for her natural instincts, her ability to be at least two steps ahead of the game. Years of practising shōgi had proved useful in figuring out the intentions of their opponents and quite frankly, it was offensive when he ignored her sound advice.

A woman like Togo Hifumi knew how much she was worth, what she could offer him, and it was certainly a lot more than a quick fuck every now and then.

"She's very pretty," she said, as he stepped past her to retrieve his watch, resting on top of her bedside table.

He fixed it to his wrist, not even bothering to look up at her.

"Really?" he delivered as a flat aside. "I hadn't noticed..."

There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, an unvarnished affirmative of his lust for the girl.

What other reason did he have to keep her around?

Hifumi had suffered through phases of his male appetite wandering before, but he has never been this reckless.

It was dangerous when a man thought with his dick before his brain but, Hifumi guessed, anything was better than thinking with his heart. And with Joker, they did not have to worry about that.

Though he cared for her, for his family and his friends, he always claimed that the part of him that was capable of anything deeper was broken, hidden away like a secret treasure and once upon a time, Hifumi thought that she could be the one to stumble upon and fix it.

On the way to the door, Akira paused at the foot of her bed, sensing her frustration with him and reacting as if she were the one being unreasonable.

For one, devastating second, she thought that he would leave regardless – until he crossed the mattress towards her and placed his lips on his: a sweet compromise, an effective method to placate her, at least until the sunrise.

He hardly kissed her, you see.

Another one of his stupid rules.

"Ryuji is right," Hifumi murmured against his lips. "You are getting soft."

* * *

Shirogane Naoto.

Ann had no idea who she was but according to Makoto, the female private detective was her 'idol' growing up.

The sentiment must have been shared across their offices because there was an excitement in the air that Ann had never felt before, followed by rushed but hushed preparations to make the space more presentable, as if they were expecting the arrival of a celebrity or something similar.

But it wasn't hard to find out why the woman was so respected in their line of work.

Ann had been too young to take notice of her heavily publicised achievements, but a quick internet search confirmed that she was as brilliant a detective as Makoto made her out to be.

Her most famous case, undertaken when she was just a high school student, led to the arrest of the culprit responsible for a series of murders terrorising a town called Inaba, not too far outside Tokyo. And it was only uphill from there for her.

These days, Shirogane Naoto was retired from the force – bar a few consultancy jobs which she picked and chose based on what caught her attention. The news of Ann's success in infiltrating the Phantom Thieves had piqued this interest apparently, enough that the agency sought her out and thought that it was time to bring out the big guns.

They were lined up in the lobby to receive her like a war hero.

To Ann's surprise, the woman was very petite, perhaps only reaching the tops of Ann's shoulders in height.

She was androgynous in appearance, with short blue hair tucked under a newsboy flat cap that shielded her perceptive grey eyes.

She walked into their building, hands clasped behind her back and entertaining whatever Kobayakawa was saying until Ann fell into her line of sight.

Kamoshida, whose arm was already outstretched to greet her, was bluntly ignored when the woman strode past him and stopped directly in front of Ann.

"Takamaki-san," Naoto thrust a hand into her chest. "A pleasure to finally meet you."

Ann glanced around nervously before taking it, encouraged only by Makoto's wide smile amongst the several other, outraged expressions.

"Likewise..."

Her handshake was firm for a woman of her stature, strong and empowering.

Her smile, however, was warm and filled with admiration that Ann felt was undeserved, coming from someone like her.

"Walk with me, will you?"

Ann guided them through the building with the rest of the squad headed by Kamoshida flocking behind them like a swarm of flies.

At several times, Ann thought that she should introduce Naoto to her seniors, but the woman was already too far in the zone and focused in on the task at hand.

"I read all of your case notes before taking the job," Naoto told her. "I must say, the work you've done so far is invaluable."

"Ah, thank you..."

"Your identifying of Sakura Futaba," she added, ignoring the obvious blush appearing across Ann's cheeks, "I've had my eye on her for years. To discover that she is part of the Phantom Thieves too—for lack of a better phrase—blew my mind."

"Well," Ann cleared her throat. "I wouldn't have managed to get this far without the help of my superior, Nijima Makoto."

Naoto's head spun towards the girl who was walking directly behind them. A look of compassion passed over her feminine features, only for a split second.

"Nijima," she repeated. Then, she smiled. "The agency is lucky to have you. Your sister was a very talented detective."

"Thank you," Makoto ducked her head, respectfully. "She was also a huge fan of yours too. You are the reason why she became a detective in the first place."

The moment passed before anyone could pick at its meaning too much. Naoto turned back to Ann with a schooled expression.

"And you, Takamaki-san?"

"Me?" Ann faltered, misinterpreting that she was being asked whether she was a fan.

"What made you join the security field?" Naoto elaborated and Ann scrambled for her response.

"Oh, well. I only really–"

"–Takamaki is one of our newest recruits," Kobayakawa butted in from behind them. "She joined us just earlier in the year."

He said in a way that was trying to slight her, to highlight her inexperience and receive a reaction of disapproval from Shirogane Naoto. Instead, he achieved the exact opposite when the famous detective appeared impressed.

"Yes, it's probably a good thing that she is not a seasoned agent. Your records are practically clear. An advantage, especially with a hacker like Sakura Futaba on their side." The woman turned again with an approving nod at Makoto. "Excellent thinking again, Nijima-san."

Conversant with the case and Naoto's background, Makoto was happy to take the lead and show the detective around the headquarters and finally, to where she and Ann worked.

They talked her through their findings, their theories, and the list of people that Ann had met and believed to be members or at least in connection with the Phantom Thieves.

Makoto remained confident in her belief that the Phantom Thieves were behind several armed robberies, blackmails of prominent political figures and the conveyance of illegal weapons into the city. Bold claims, Shirogane Naoto had said, with little evidence to back them up.

"Hence why Takamaki-san's work is so important," Makoto contended passionately. "It's an insight the agency has never had before when it comes to the Phantom Thieves."

In the meanwhile, Commissioner Kobayakawa was moseying around, a dark aura surrounding him having expected more of an audience with the famous detective.

"What are you doing, Kamoshida?" he said, striding back into the office floor after his fourth trip to the canteen.

His foul mood made less tolerant to an otherwise unoccupied Kamoshida, lounging at his desk and playing a game on his phone that resembled something like Tetris.

"Not much," the detective droned. He nodded in Ann's direction, thinking that he was out of earshot when he said: "just looking after team oestrogen over there–"

"–Kamoshida-san," Naoto spoke up abruptly, in a tone that dared to beacon him over to them.

The man shot upright in his seat like a distracted kid being called out in class.

She offered him a tight smile.

"Are you not working on the Phantom Thieves case as well?" she said.

"Actually," Kamoshida began, in a matter of fact kind of way. "I manage our entire program for cases under organised crime in this prefecture."

Naoto dealt him a dubious expression. Clearly, the detective thought that he was doing a poor job, all things considered.

Truly and rightly put in his place, Kobayakawa dismissed the man from his post citing more important matters, and Ann had never felt more confident and empowered by what she and Makoto had achieved so far.

Even in the short time she worked with her, Ann learnt a lot from Shirogane Makoto.

She was grateful for the opportunity and would have happily spent more time gleaning knowledge from her vast experience but it wasn't long into their planning when she realised that this was not going to be the case.

"Do you know what a sleeper agent is, Takamaki-san?" the detective asked her the next morning.

It was a term Ann had only heard referenced in spy movies and even then, she wasn't sure if the portrayal was an accurate one.

"A sleeper agent is an agent that infiltrates a target nation or organisation," Makoto explained for her. "They do not have an immediate mission or objective. But they are an important asset to the agency when activated."

Ann blinked.

"Then what is it that I am supposed to do?"

"Gather intel, gain their trust," Makoto said. "The Phantom Thieves are more likely to share their secrets with someone who they think is one of them."

"I read that their Leader likes you," Naoto commented neutrally, and not in the incriminating way her other colleagues had inferred. "It was his decision to indoctrinate you into their group, am I right? This relationship is invaluable, Takamaki-san. With his approval, you are untouchable. Take advantage of this fact."

Ann bit her bottom lip, wondering whether the detective had skipped over the part of her report that mentioned Joker's initial intentions were to kill her and how close he had come to doing so.

"Don't look so worried, Takamaki-san," Makoto tried to speak light-heartedly. "I know you must feel as if we are abandoning you but we will be working on the background, putting in place what is needed to catch them. And when we do, you will have all the evidence and eyewitness testimonies to put them away for good."

"That...makes sense…"

"In the meantime, you will operate as if a Phantom Thief yourself," Naoto added sternly. "No matter what you hear or see, you must not contact the agency—you will not report to me or Nijima-san at any point or we will all be in danger, do you understand?"

The two women watched as Ann went rigid in her chair and nodded.

"We will try to make contact with you when we deem it safe and will not compromise the mission," Makoto said, as ways to assure her.

"I understand," Ann said, though she still appeared doubtful.

Standing from her seat, Naoto walked towards the case board with photographs of the Phantom Thieves pinned next to newspaper cuttings and photographs of their crime scene and for the first time in her career, hesitated.

It was one thing to go after a culprit herself, but sending one of her subordinates in alone and without any real plan was like treading in shark-infested waters.

Her gaze fell on a photograph of Nijima Sae and her heart sunk inside of her chest.

Everyone knew what happened when you got too close to the Phantom Thieves.

"I know that this is daunting, Takamaki-san," she turned back to her with a hardened stare. "But we are now too far gone to back out now. Believe me when I say that integrating yourself with these people and playing a convincing role is the best way that you can protect us and yourself. We will work hard and train you as best we can in these next couple of days. Because once you get there, you'll be on your own."

* * *

Being an official 'employee' of the Phantom Thieves was nothing like Ann had expected.

First, the address that she was told to go to was not an office building or a shady warehouse hide-out in the middle of nowhere – but a quaint little cafe, hidden away in the narrow streets of Yongen-Jaya.

She would not have realised she was in the right place, until she sheepishly entered the establishment, finding it completely empty except for Sakura Futaba and a black tomcat, waiting for her at the bar.

The feline jumped from the stool next to Futaba's, purring as he circled Ann's ankles in greeting.

The younger girl looked up from her laptop screen to investigate the commotion, eyes widening behind her glasses when she spotted Ann at the doorway, looking painfully out of place in her pencil-skirt and matching suit jacket.

"Oh. You look nice," Futaba said as she slipped her headphones off of her ears.

In contrast, the girl was wearing Dr Martens with knee-high socks, cargo shorts and a logo tee underneath an aviator jacket.

Already, Ann felt like an idiot.

"Sorry in advance about the cat hair," Futaba said as she stood to greet her. "His name is Morgana, but I call him Mona for short..."

She paused, observing as Ann knelt down to greet the creature properly.

"...Weird," she mused. "He doesn't usually like strangers."

It was hardly the welcome she had envisioned. And apart from Futaba and the cat, there was not another Phantom Thief insight.

Although Kawakami had described the posting to her as a form of 'employment', there was no formal induction, no contract to sign or introductory meeting with HR.

It was not that Ann had expected this from the Phantom Thieves, or any other criminal syndicate, in fact. But she had prepared herself for something of an inauguration: an oath-giving ceremony sealed by blood or the acquiring of matching gang tattoos.

Instead, she was met with a stack of boxes, filled to the brim with a mismatch of papers, notebooks, folders and the like, that had been stored and forgotten in the attic above the cafe.

Futaba, who was no more in the know than she was, had been instructed to tell Ann to go through them, to discard of anything that was worthless and to digitise whatever she deemed to be important.

There was a desk in the corner and a laptop to her disposal, glaringly brand new in comparison to the ageing furniture in the room.

"It gets a bit stuffy up here," Futaba admitted, flaring her nose at the thick, attic air. "So you're more than welcome to bring these down and work in the cafe with me – if you want."

Besides the desk and shelves of boxes, there was little else to see but a dying plant and a small TV set that faced a futon by the only window in the room.

Someone lived here once, Ann thought sadly. It was hardly the most inspiring workspace she had ever seen, let alone somewhere to call home, so she took up Futaba's offer and followed her back down the stairs with the first few of the boxes in her arms.

She saw no one else of significance besides Futaba and her adoptive father, Sakura Sojiro on her first day.

People had come in and out of the cafe and though she tried to discern a pattern from the passing faces, none of them seemed out of the ordinary: just locals and regulars and sometimes students looking for a quiet place to study.

Much was the same for her second day at the 'office'.

She arrived in a more smart-casual outfit this time and was greeted by Futaba, her cat and the stack of papers she had been trying to make sense of from the day before.

It didn't take her long to realise that going undercover was not eventful as one would have thought.

"What are you working on?" she asked the girl, after what must have been hours of mustering up the courage to.

Futaba, whom she spent most of her time with in relative silence, was a very quiet and shy individual.

Ann knew that she meant nothing by it when she hardly said a word to her all day, because she seemed to be permanently plugged into her headphones, typing away on her laptop and writing lines and lines of luminous green code that Ann – whenever she tried to catch a glimpse – could not for the life of her figure out what it all meant.

"Homework," Futaba replied, much to Ann's disappointment. She grumbled, "Akira absolutely insists I get a college degree, even though he doesn't have one himself."

Speaking of Joker, there was still no sign of him by the end of her second day at Le Blanc.

Ann was, in a way, grateful for his absence, considering how things had been left between them the last time they were together. But she did think it strange – and a little rude – that he did not bother to drop by even once to greet his new 'employee'.

It was late in the afternoon on her third day when he did finally show up – unexpected and unannounced.

He came alone, emerging from the rainy streets and was in and out before Ann had the time to compose herself. Even Futaba seemed duped by his fleeting visit, loitering as he occupied himself with calls on the cafe's payphone to ask if he needed anything at all.

He came by again the next day, this time his visit long enough to acknowledge her in the corner booth where she and Futaba had worked.

He strode in like he owned the place – which, in a way he probably did – making himself at home behind the counter despite Sojiro's attempts at shooing him away.

Their gazes caught and he graced her with the slightest nod before he went back to fixing himself a drink and listening to whatever this uncle was gripeing on about.

Flustered, Ann looked down at her fingers poised above the keys of her laptop with no recollection of what she was working on before he had arrived.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, ruefully conscious of the internal upheaval that resulted only from being within Joker's radius.

He had not spoken to her since the evening on the balcony, choosing to conduct the formalities of her employment through others, despite the lengths he went to and money he spent to acquire her.

Had it been anyone else but Joker, Ann would have thought that he was deliberately avoiding her.

He spoke to Sojiro as if she couldn't hear them.

"How is she doing?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" he slung back at him, and that was when Ann figured out that the older man had been tasked with babysitting her, albeit reluctantly.

Akira dealt him a pained look and after a while, she felt both of their eyes on her.

She trained her own straight ahead, at what was now the screensaver of her new laptop.

"She's good for business," Sojiro admitted, humorously. "The boys from that high school nearby are all of a sudden interested in drinking coffee."

He never stayed longer than twenty minutes or so, visiting yet again on Friday morning with Kitagawa Yusuke in tow.

This time, Ann had chosen a seat at the bar to work at and he froze mid-stride when he caught sight of her directly in front of them. It was as if he were not expecting to find her there, to be so close after the distance he had put between them.

Ann returned his gaze, face open for a conversation, until Yusuke bounded past him to greet her.

"Ann-chan!" he enthused, dramatic as ever. "You are a breath of spring air this winter morning~!"

As the man went on and on about how he must find the time to paint her one day, Akira went ahead and spoke to Futaba in quiet tones indistinguishable over Yusuke's gushing.

From the corner of her eye, she could see him looking over the papers she had been tasked with sorting through, spreading them over the table with a lean hand before he walked past her again – only to grab Yusuke by the arm and drag him out of the cafe without as much as a parting sentiment.

"Akira seems to be coming by a lot these days," Futaba mused at their abrupt departure.

Ann whipped her head around to face her, having been captured in the aftermath of Joker's presence.

"Oh. Does he not visit often?"

Futaba shrugged.

"He doesn't usually have a reason to."

Saturday rolled around, marking the end of her first week as a trainee-Phantom-Thief and it had been, for lack of a better word, underwhelming.

Even in the task that she had been given, Ann had not uncovered any significant intelligence besides evidence that supported what her agency already knew, or suspected to be the case.

She found handwritten lines of management accounts, rough details of ingoings and outgoings, deeds of properties and investments and large, unmarked deposits to offshore bank accounts that she could hardly make sense of but were obviously highly significant, given the number of zeros that had been itemised on their receipts.

By the end of the week, all Ann had was a better idea of the Phantom Thieves net worth – the figures she had studied at the agency merely a rough estimation in comparison to the fantastic numbers that she had been compiling.

Back up in the attic, she sighed, placing her hands on her hips and ruminating over her next task.

She still had another ten or so more boxes to go through.

Even organised crime syndicates had administrative backlogs, she guessed.

Le Blanc had closed to the public early that day because Futaba and Seijrio had to run an errand that afternoon, leaving Ann alone to watch over the property in their absence.

She was making her way back down from the attic armed with yet another box, sensing that she was not alone before she reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Akira-kun?"

Joker had let himself into the cafe and was lounging with his back against the edge of the counter.

He was wearing another one of his beautifully tailored suits, hands dug deep into the pockets and so starkly handsome that she almost cannoned into a nearby barstool on her approach.

"Where is Futaba?" he asked her, without greeting.

"At Todai University's open day with Sojiro-san," she managed to reply. The probing look he dealt her encouraged the need for her to explain: "He asked me to look after the cafe whilst they were out. They said they wouldn't be long..."

With no immediate response, Ann went to deposit the box on the table where she had been working, only to have the item swept away from her arms.

"I've got it," he said and Ann thanked him, even though she hadn't exactly been struggling. Then, he tilted his head towards the bar. "Will you make me a coffee?"

"A what?" she echoed dumbly, as if he were asking for something absurd in an actual coffee shop.

He must have been thinking along the same lines when he quirked a dark brow at her, forcing Ann to shamefully admit:

"I'm sorry. I don't...really know how..."

Her expertise in that area started and ended with the instant kind, involving far less sophisticated equipment than those available to her at Le Blanc (namely: a kettle).

Fortunately for her, Joker was feeling forgiving.

"You don't know how to make coffee?" he said, amused. "Really? What am I paying you for?"

Ann felt like asking that question herself but ultimately decided against it when he placed the box down onto the table and made his way behind the bar.

He beaconed Ann over to him, priming the boiler with hot water and showing her a portafilter; the funnel where he fed the beans to be grounded and the part of the machine that was used to steam the milk.

He poured the frothy liquid into a mug with great care, creating a pretty pattern like a leaf when the milk folded into the brown liquid.

He watched her take a sip and sigh with satisfaction.

Ann had to admit – the unlimited free coffee was one of the better perks of the job.

"Now, your turn," he said.

Hesitantly, Ann rounded the bar to join him, stomach fluttering from being subjected to the full onslaught of Joker's attention after so long of being denied of it.

When she found herself struggling with using the tamper to compress the beans, Akira took up a confident stance directly behind her: arms next to hers and his face close enough to feel his breath, warming the spot where it curved into her shoulder.

Needless to say, his sudden proximity made completing the task near enough impossible, but Akira was patient enough to instruct her through the initial steps.

"How has your first week been?" he asked, his voice a brush of velvet against her ears.

"Fine," Ann replied – though at that moment, she wouldn't have been able to tell him what she had been up to, exactly. "I'm still getting my head around what it is I'm...meant to be doing..."

Ann had expected him to expand on the ambiguity but he answered her question with his own.

"I suppose you have an idea of who we are and what we do as an organisation?"

Ann nodded slowly, appearing to concentrate hard on brewing his drink when really, it was because she couldn't quite bring herself to look him in the eye.

Once she appeared to have gotten the hang of using the coffee machine, Akira detached himself from her back to lean on the counter next to her instead.

Immediately, her senses registered the loss of his warmth.

"Does it frighten you?" he asked, and remembering how he said he hated liars, Ann unglued her tongue from the roof of her dry mouth and admitted, truthfully:

"Yes, it does."

"Why?"

He gave the impression that he was surprised, maybe even concerned by her answer, like he hadn't thought about killing her himself, just the other week.

"It's just—the things you hear on the news," Ann replied, vaguely. "Like what happened to that CEO. They all say that you guys were...involved..."

Akira's lashes lifted to meet her eyes, casting her a glittering look of derision. It made her feel like apologising for what she said, even though she did not know the reason why.

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear on the news."

Trembling, Ann finished pouring his drink and placed it on the counter in front of him. The pattern was not as beautifully presented as the one he had made for her, but he took it gratefully.

"What should I believe then?" she asked, taking the opportunity to when he lifted the cup to his lips.

"Okumura was not the man he made himself out to be," he spoke, after a weighted minute. "And to answer the question you don't want to ask: no, we did not kill him. You will find that out soon enough."

He seemed annoyed at her for even suggesting it, and even though Ann knew the truth, she could not see why he would react in such a way given the overwhelming evidence and eye-witness testimonies that had been reported against them.

"I'm sorry," she apologised, nonetheless. "I didn't mean to assume."

"You have nothing to be afraid of here," Akira said to her with confidence enough that she was almost convinced of his every word.

He looked her in the eye and placed a hand over his chest.

"With me," he said, "you are safe."

Ann refrained from pointing out the fact that she was not in any danger until he and the Phantom Thieves were introduced into her life.

And, safe from who? she wanted to ask.

Safe from the rest of the Phantom Thieves who thought it better she were dead?

Sensing her hesitation, her brazen scepticism, Akira drained his cup and placed it sharply down on the counter between them.

"Are you not grateful that I spared you? And on top of that, gave you a steadier job?" He spoke calmly, even though it was obvious there was a wrong answer to his question. "I can't imagine working for Kawakami was something you planned on making a career out of."

His voice had reverted to that bitter tone he had used with her in the nightclub. Ann cleared her throat as he continued looked down on her.

"I suppose," she said.

"You suppose?"

"I am happy to be here, Akira-kun," she replied, her voice taking on a feather-like quality. "Just as long as you, um...don't want to buy a night in bed with me anymore..."

She watched his jaw muscles clench as he bit down on his back teeth. Even though it had been his own words that she had slung back at him, Ann's immediate reaction was panic – followed by the desire to crawl under her bed and disappear.

She had no idea why she said it.

Maybe she was feeling particularly self-destructive that day, or maybe it was because she wanted to find out whether he still wanted her in that way, even though she wasn't sure what she wanted the answer to be.

From below her downcast lashes, she stole a glance at the man before her, his silent resentment gnawing at her every nerve ending.

He had averted his gaze out of the window and out into the dimming sky and a split second later, brought it back on her like a blowtorch on a straw doll.

He took no shame in looking over her with impunity, eyes drifting south. Even through her modest attire, his male eyes saw her – darkening with thoughts she could only guess and carefully considering the proposition now that he had been presented with it.

Eventually, however, he shook his head.

"I don't," he reiterated harshly. "Didn't I make that clear to you at the amusement park? If that is what I wanted, I have plenty of other options. None of whom require any form of _payment_."

Akira completed his defence with a harsh emphasis that confirmed her suspicions that he was indeed the kind of man that had several women at his beck and call and to his disposal.

Ann thought of Kawakami, of Togo Hifumi, of her classic beauty and her loyalty to the point in which she would have killed for him.

He might as well have told her that she was not special – why would he pay for her if he could get better for free? – but his self-assurance and arrogance stamped all over his hard features was enough as he scanned her wounded expression with a degree of impassivity.

"Great!" Ann attempted a cheery smile. "I–I'm glad we've got that straightened out. It makes me feel a lot better..."

Unsure what to say in the tense atmosphere that followed, Ann folded a dishcloth on top of the counter, just for something to do with her hands. In completing the meaningless task, she stepped past him towards the booths when Akira caught her by the arm and drew her into his orbit.

"Ann, I…" came an unfinished apology.

In the absence of words, he thumbed at her inner wrist, his gaze engulfing hers.

They hadn't been alone or this close since that evening on the balcony, the sudden contact plunging her into an instant recall of how she had felt in his arms that day.

He was warm, his body so strong and solid against hers that it blocked out all the harshness of their reality for an instant.

He had told her everything would be fine, that he did not want to hurt her, and stupidly at the time, she had believed it was so because he liked her.

Because, if he did not want her, why had he kissed her back in such a way?

And why was he looking at her now, like that was all he could think about too?

The bell above the cafe door chimed with the return for Futaba and Sakura Seijiro and the couple split a whole metre apart from one another as if guilty of doing something wrong.

"Akira! You're here again."

"What have you two been up to whilst we were away?" Sojiro asked.

"I was teaching our new employee how to make coffee," Akira answered them both when Ann could not, her bodily functions occupied with the task of flushing every inch of her skin to an unnatural shade of red.

As Futaba went to look for her cat, Sojiro removed his jacket, hanging them by the door as he looked between the couple dubiously.

"Oh yeah?" he decided to humour them. He nodded his head towards the empty cups. "How was it?"

Ann looked to Akira for assistance, and he dealt her a sideways glance and smiled.

"There is room for improvement," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A change of pace but hopefully an interesting chapter all the same. Huge thank you for the comments and kudos, and for your patience in between updates. As promised, I’m going to try and reduce the time between chapter releases, so the next chapter will be out on the 10th of Feb :) see you then!


	7. Introducing Anarchy

It was raining, but Futaba could just about see him through the frosted windows outside of Cafe Leblanc.

He was smoking, as usual, pacing on the phone to someone who was most likely irritating him, telling from the regularity of which he brought the cigarette to his lips.

Eventually, he ended his call and walked back into the empty cafe, brushing the droplets of rain from his dark hair.

He said nothing to her, distracted by the aftermath of his conversation and reaching for his coat and scarf that were hung up by the door.

"Where are you off to so late?" Futaba asked.

"To meet the devil and the crossroads," he replied, a sentence that only made sense to her and a select few others.

He tucked his scarf underneath his chin and under the buttons of his jacket.

"Will you be ok to lock up?" he asked.

He didn't like her walking home in the dark, even though the Sakura household was only a two-minute walk away.

"Yeah, I won't be much longer," Futaba replied. "Just be careful, ok?"

Nodding, Akira put up his hood and headed back out into the rain.

There was a car waiting for him at the end of the narrow street. He climbed in and told the driver to head to Shinjuku's red-light district. Normally, he would take public transport for such a short distance, but the police were on high alert since Okumura's apparent murder and he wasn't taking any chances.

The Crossroads club and bar was an...interesting establishment.

It was owned and run by a cross-dressing drag queen who went by the name of Lala Escargot, catering to those from all walks of life.

Akira knew this because he used to work a couple of shifts a week there during his short stint at high school. Behind the bar, he spoke with several, equally as 'interesting' characters who could make even Lala-chan seem as plain as flour.

He supposed this was where he was first introduced to what was now his world.

He had the car to circle the block, telling the driver that he would not be longer than ten minutes or so.

Ducking into one of the districts shadowed side streets and up a flight of dubious-looking stairs, Akira slipped into the quiet bar that appeared to be catering only for their regulars tonight – including one such patron who was around maybe a little too regularly than he would have liked and ultimately, what was good for her.

He slapped a brown envelope down onto the counter, drawing her attention away from the cocktail she was nursing.

She regarded it as if he had just presented her with a strange animal of some sort.

"What is this?"

"A story that I want you to write," he replied.

The first time he met Ohya Ichiko, she was a young, fledgling paparazzo and media journalist for the Maiasa newspaper.

She had only intended on staying at the questionable tabloid for a year or two before moving onto a more serious rag, but almost nine years had passed since then and Akira was turning 28 this year, whilst Ohya was getting further and further away from 30.

The woman swayed in her seat as she spread her arms out in a self-deprecating gesture.

"And what makes you think that you can waltz in here and expect me to write whatever you want, just because you asked?"

Akira dealt her a stagnant look.

"Because you're a washed-up journalist waiting for your big break, and I'm the man with deep pockets who will make it sure that you'll be able to pay your rent this month."

Ohya appeared scandalised.

"Your words, not mine," he added, and the woman hiccuped into her glass.

"You shouldn't quote me on things I say when I'm drunk," she grumbled, to which Joker replied shrewdly:

"I don't think I've ever met you sober."

Ohya snatched up the folder, glaring daggers at the man even though they both knew it was true.

"Ha-_ha_," she expelled a sarcastic laugh.

Emptying its contents, the older woman leafed through the pages inside the folder, her eyes scanning its contents with the focus of a narcotic detection dog and despite her obvious inebriation.

"Medical records?"

"Okumura Kunikazi's autopsy," Akira confirmed.

"It says here that he died of a heart attack," she looked confused. Then, it clicked. "Wait – so his death had nothing to do with the Phantom Thieves?"

The man next to her shook his head and Ohya's eyes widened to the size of saucers.

"Where did you get this?" she demanded, knowing that she never got a straight answer from Kusuru Akira but asking all the same.

As expected, he shrugged.

"I know a doctor who does a shift at the university hospital every now and then," he replied, obviously downplaying the real lengths that he went to retrieve the information.

He checked his watch, wanting to wrap this up before his car returned.

"So, do you think you could print it?" he pressed.

Despite its reputation and questionable use of sources, the Maiasa was still one of the most widely read newspapers in the country. And, as far as he could tell, it wasn't owned or influenced by dishonest members of the state, either.

Ohya nodded so fervently that yellow tinted sunglasses rested on the top of her head threatened to fall.

"This is big," she said, still in awe. "What do I owe you?"

"Nothing," Akira straightened up from his seat, adjusting his jacket as he did so. "Just make sure that whatever you write is ready to print for tomorrow's paper."

He inclined his head as a mark of his departure, as well as an indication of trust in her abilities.

Confounded by their hasty rendezvous, Ohya spun around on her barstool after Akira as he made towards the exit and into the night.

"Hey!" she pouted after him. "At least let me buy you a drink?!"

* * *

Ryuji was lounging in the back seat of one of Okumura's Mercedes Maybachs, watching a live stream of the press conference taking place in the venue, just outside of where he was parked.

On his phone screen, Haru was calmly and composedly answering the probing questions of the ruthless journalists clamouring over each other for her attention.

She looked pretty, as always, in a respectful black blazer and skirt, paired with a ruffled white blouse. She completed the look with black lace gloves and a headpiece with a netted veil that covered the top half of her face.

It was her mourning outfit – something she wore to keep up appearances – and so unlike the gentle pastel colours he was used to seeing her in.

The session ended not a second later than was scheduled and soon after, Haru was being escorted out of the building by an entourage of black suits, shielding her from the hoards of journalists and cameras trying to get their final questions answered.

One of the bodyguards opened the passenger seat next to him and Haru entered the vehicle with an assault of sound and flashing lights.

She looked surprised to see him.

"Wife."

"Husband," she greeted, after a moment of recovery.

She removed her gloves, discarding them on the armrests between them and releasing a technicolour of lights across the cars dark interior from the sunlight catching the diamonds of her wedding and engagement rings.

"You didn't have to come," she said, admonishingly. "What if someone had seen you?"

Ryuji grinned and took her hand in his, fingers interlaced as he brought her knuckles to his lips.

He always said she worried about him too much, but with his bleached blonde hair and certain proclivity for leaving destruction in his wake, Sakamoto Ryuji wasn't exactly the most covert member of the Phantom Thieves.

"I wanted to hear how it went from you first," he said.

Their driver pulled away from the curb, leaving the city behind like a blur.

"As well as it could have," Haru replied. She was always modest, even when she didn't need to be. "Hopefully, we can all put this all to rest soon."

That same morning, Maiasa Newspaper published a story that shook the entire nation.

For weeks on end, newscasters and the police had been reporting their efforts in arresting the members of the Phantom Thieves responsible for Okumura's death and now, there was irrefutable evidence that the group had nothing to do with the mans death.

Furthermore, testimonies from silenced whistleblowers and families of Okumura's victims were brought to light, leaving the public outraged and questioning the integrity of their city's police and the corruption of their large corporate companies.

And to add fuel to the rapidly growing flame: Okumura Haru – the only daughter of the late CEO – all but just confirmed the authenticity of the reports.

Ryuji pondered out loud.

"I wonder why Akira changed his mind about going to Ohya in the end."

"You _know_ why."

Haru shot him a suggestive look and her husband raised his brows at her.

"Ann?" he said, and Haru nodded.

"Yes. Funny, isn't it?" she smiled. "After we all tried to convince him and how adamant he had been against stirring up more trouble in the press..."

"...And yet, after all his efforts, Futaba says that she is still terrified of him," Ryuji added with a mirthless laugh.

"As she would be," Haru said, her tone serious all of a sudden. "All she knows of us is what people say and what the news reports. I always thought it was better that she and the rest of the country knew the truth. Believe it or not, there are people out there who support what we do—"

"—Yes, but interrupting our honeymoon to fly you back home for one press conference is taking it a bit far, don't you think?"

Ryuji rolled his eyes, though she could tell that he was not too annoyed. Instead, the man was just as amused by Joker's behaviour as Haru seemed to be.

"You know how he can be, Ryuji..."

"I do, but he must like this one a lot."

"I hope so," Haru laughed, cupping her hand underneath her chin wistfully. "Joker needs to act more like a guy his age, every once in a while."

* * *

Kamoshida walked into the agency's building that morning and was greeted by an uncanny silence and crowds gathered in semi-circles around the television screens displayed around the office floor.

Over their heads, he saw a woman on the screen dressed in all black, standing behind a podium on the steps of City Hall.

"_...Words cannot express how deeply sorry I am for those individuals and their families that have suffered because of my father, Okumura Kunikazu—_"

"—She's hot," he said, expecting to be awarded with a chorus of agreeing high-fives, but instead received the irritated spinning of heads and fingers placed on lips.

"Can you keep your mouth shut for just a second, Kamoshida?" Kobayakawa growled at him. "This interview is live."

The man bit back a mordant response, digging his hands deep into his jacket pockets and reacting like a teenager being scolded for something he didn't think was deserved.

"Who is she supposed to be, anyway?"

"Okumura Haru – heiress of Okumura foods," one of the junior detectives replied.

Another one piped up next to him:

"She's only gone and told the entire world that her father was a crooked businessman who _did not_, in fact, get murdered by the Phantom Thieves."

Kamoshida stiffened like a deer caught in the scope of a gun.

"You're joking, right?"

"Read it and weep," Kobayakawa slapped a tabloid newspaper against his chest. "His autopsy was released and it says that he died from a heart attack..."

The man lowered his voice to a murmur so that only he could hear the displeasure behind it.

"...I thought you said you had this under control, chief superintendent?"

"_...As the new CEO and largest stockholder of Okumura Foods, my first act on duty is to ensure that those whose lives have been affected by his actions will be compensated," the woman on the screens continued. "And though I cannot erase the pain that he has already caused, I can ensure that this will never happen again. My legacy will not be that of my fathers. Thank you for your time._"

Just as the interview wrapped up, Makoto walked into the office with Shirogane Naoto in tow, too caught up with being in the presence of the famous detective to register the gathered crowds.

"What's happened?" Makoto belatedly asked, sensing Kamoshida's irritation as he walked towards the exit from which she came.

Purposefully, he bumped into her shoulder and spoke down at her like a whiplash of a naked threat:

"Takamaki better get something good soon, Nijima. Or it's your head on the chopping block – got it?"

* * *

"Alright, Joker. You're up."

Even at this time of night, the baseball batting cages situated just around the corner from Le Blanc were always to the disposal of Phantom Thieves.

The owner owed them for a 'favour' – involving the 'removal' of some rowdy high school delinquents terrorising their staff and other patrons – and they were free to use the cages when closed off to the public whenever they pleased.

Taking the post Ryuji has just vacated, Akira gripped the handle of his baseball bat and held it above his right shoulder.

Not a second later, a loud buzzer sounded from the end of the court and ball came hurtling towards him, which he swung at confidently and catapulted into oblivion.

Using a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness of the floodlights illuminating the court, Akira followed the ball until he heard the distinct sound of a home-run crackle over the old announcement speakers.

"Nice!" Ryuji called and he might have heard a short applause from Yusuke as well.

Akira grinned. The batting cages were always a good way to blow off some steam, not that they had any reason to be stressed – as Ryuji and the others would often remind him these days.

Their recent campaign had been a success, in all cases.

They had done what they had set out to achieve and that was to disprove any relation between the Phantom Thieves and the death of Okumura Kunikazu, whilst outing him as the deplorable human being that he was.

If anything, their popularity amongst the people of Tokyo only grew more because of the incident, and their belief in their police force and justice system was wavering by the day.

Ryuji clapped him on the shoulder when Yusuke swapped into the starting block.

"Glad to see you got your spark back, my friend."

Akira did not comment, because he had not been aware that he had 'lost' whatever it was Ryuji was referring to.

"I'm just sayin'," Ryuji said in his dubious silence, "you seem to be in a better mood these days. It does help to get some good press about us, every once in a while."

"Yes, but being under so much scrutiny is an unfortunate byproduct..."

They paused for a moment, leaning against the metal safety railings to observe Yusuke's poor attempts in the batting cage – once, almost getting hit by one of the balls after mistiming his swing.

Akira and Ryuji shook their heads.

To his credit, the man was and never claimed to be the sporty type.

"Y'know," Ryuji continued to tease. "You could've avoided all this if you'd've just asked her out—like a normal person."

Again, he was returned with a look that meant something along the lines of 'I-have-no-idea-what-you're-on-about-now-_drop-it_-Ryuji' and laughed.

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about!" he chided with a playful nudge. "You know you didn't have to go this far."

"She wouldn't have believed me otherwise," Akira admitted quietly and Ryuji grinned at him in a knowing way.

"Come on. I'm sure a guy like you can be a little more than persuasive?"

"After I pointed a gun at her?" his friend expelled a breathy laugh. "I think it'll take a little more than dinner and conversation to smooth that one over."

Mercifully, Ryuji raised his hands in a gesture of defeat.

He was a lot more intuitive than people gave him credit for, and though Akira continued to deny that their recent efforts were for her benefit, they both were aware that their new recruit was growing more and more relaxed around him – around all of them – as a result of the recent press.

Even so, Akira still kept his distance. He remained conscious of the fact that she was still wary in his presence and, to be honest, no one could blame her.

Her experiences with him to date were far from consistently pleasant and following their conversation during her first week working at Le Blanc, Akira did his utmost to ensure that he came across to her as everything else but the psychopath who wanted to fuck but also kill her.

And how does one eloquently convey that only _half_ of that was true?

He sighed.

He knew his words at Marukyu Striptease would come back to bite him in the ass.

Pretending to be watching Yusuke attempt at another ball, Akira sucked on his bottom lip and released it with a smack, thinking of how it had felt to finally kiss her, and how it took every ounce of self discipline not to take her to his bed and deliver her punishment in a _whole different way_.

He thought she felt it too but the realisation that she had done it out of self-defence was a devastating blow to his male ego. And the fact that she had inexplicitly expressed her preference in working for Kawakami – of dating other men over working from him – was nothing short of insulting.

She was unknowingly exploiting a weakness in him that he didn't know he had, and that should have been enough reason to have gotten rid of her there and then.

But instead, he decided to hire her. Even at the expense of her finding out who he truly was, and the grief he got from Hifumi and even Ryuji (at first) about trusting what was essentially a complete stranger.

Despite what the others thought, it was not just because he liked her. Regardless of his reputation, he did not find the act of taking another life pleasurable in any way, and would only do so when necessary or when he believed the victim truly deserved it.

But was she worth the risk? they asked.

He liked to think so.

Akira had never before made this much of an effort to get a woman to like him before.

It was different and somewhat rewarding, following the recent press coverage, to visit Le Blanc these days and not have her behave like a prey animal at the local watering hole – but they still had some way to go.

"You're sighing a lot," Ryuji pointed out – not that he was overly concerned.

In fact, he seemed to be taking immense pleasure in witnessing his inner turmoil.

Akira shrugged a broad shoulder, a demonstration of his indifference.

"I'm not."

"Like a brooding teenager," his friend insisted. "Tell me, is it Yusuke's poor batting skills that are getting you riled up, or a certain blonde–?"

With a retort on the tip of his tongue, Akira dealt him an exasperated sideways glance that was only interrupted by the firing of a silenced gun coming from the entrance lobby of the batting cages.

It was a sound that could only be detected by a trained ear like theirs – a muted firing followed by a heavy body falling to the ground.

Yusuke lowered his bat and turned to the duo as if to ask whether they had heard it too when another shot was fired, followed by the breaking of glass and power cutting out of the entire establishment.

With their own weapons in hand, the trio moved in to investigate.

The darkened hallways made it difficult to navigate back to the entrance of the batting cages, but they moved with calm stealth and put up their hoods over their heads to hide their faces.

Alerted by a faint groan of pain, Ryuji stumbled across the owner of the batting cages limp against the wall clutching at his bleeding abdomen with another trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

He was alive, but from their experience, not for long.

"Oji-san," Ryuji held him up by the shoulders. "Who did this–?"

Another gunshot sounded, deafening in the tiny room.

It hit the old man square in the temple of his head and sent blood and bits of skin and bone flying into Ryuji's face.

The body of the man folded to the ground, leaving a smear of red against the wall and Ryuji stood and pointed his own gun in the direction in which the bullet had been shot.

Before he could react, another bullet, clearly aimed at Akira was shot and cut through the material of his jacket, grazing his right arm, followed by a flurry of others from Yusuke and Ryuji in retaliation.

Room lit up with each controlled explosion, like a strobe lights in a nightclub where they could just about make out jolted the movements of a dark figure taking cover behind the lobby furniture from the other side of the room.

Even as Akira held the gaping wound with his other hand, blood pouring through the gaps of his fingers, he still managed to reach for his own firearm with his injured hand and point it at the shadowy figure – first at his head, then lowering it to his left thigh.

The bullet hit the intruder with a force that caused him to stagger backwards and fall to the ground.

In the deafening silence that followed, they heard the intruder cry out in pain and the sound of his heavy body shifting as he tried to crawl away to safety.

Ryuji laughed with disbelief, signalling to the others that he was unhurt.

"You missed, Joker."

Yusuke reached his mobile phone and switched on the torch function to confirm the fact.

The assailant groaned again, rolling over onto his stomach to shield his eyes.

"Yep. Still alive."

"Only for long enough for me to to find out who the fuck sent him," Akira said through gritted teeth.

Advancing on the man, Ryuji and Yusuke grabbed him by the shoulders of his dark army jacket and ripped off his black ski mask.

Turning him over to face them, they found that his eyes had rolled back into his sockets and his mouth frothing with spit and vomit.

A violent cough jolted through him as he struggled to take his last breaths.

"What the _fuck_?"

"He's taken poison," Yusuke confirmed, unceremoniously dumping the spasming body back onto the ground.

Ryuji regarded him, wide eyed.

"Why the fuck would he do that?"

Akira gripped at his injured arm and winced.

"He was probably told to, if he got caught."

"By who?" Ryuji demanded, and he couldn't tell him for sure but he had a good idea.

Whoever this man was, he was either instructed to take his own life than be subjected to the torture the Phantom Thieves would inflict upon him – or the consequences should he face if he betrayed whoever hired him.

And there was only one organisation that would instil a kind of fear in a man that he would rather take his own life than face them with his failure.

"Search him," Akira instructed, knowing that the limp and lifeless body was far from being saved.

From his pockets, they produced no digital devices or forms of ID but several smaller, concealed weapons and the unlabelled pill box where the poison was kept.

Just as they were about to give up, Yusuke unzipped the concealed inside pocket of his jacket and produced a Polaroid photograph of a young man, his face scratched out with a red cross.

It was Haru's ex-fiance, Sugimura, and scrawled on the back in messy black ink read the words:

_"Only a handful of people are qualified to alter the world."_

Ryuji recoiled; "what the hell is this supposed to be?" and Akira replied with gritted teeth:

"A deceleration of war."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve hit 100 kudos! I can’t thank you all enough for your support. Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out and for it being slightly shorter than usual. I am speaking at Munich Security Conference this week and have been very busy travelling and preparing for that *shakes fist at day job*. I'll probably come back and edit this chapter later as I'm not completely happy with it. Anyways, the next part is already a few thousand words underway so I hope you see you guys again on or around the 14th of March :)


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